Max named two popular and prestigious galleries in the Miami art district. Nadine had heard of them—maybe because she read the arts and entertainment section, or maybe because she was versed in art. Either way, Max would have to keep her cover. She hadn’t wanted to stop by the galleries because of time constraints, but now she’d have to—just in case.
Her just in case covers had saved her butt in the past. Fortunately, the Premiere Development offices were only a few blocks from the art district.
“I’ll let you know,” Max said.
“And I’ll put together a list of properties I think you’d love. There’s a community just fifteen minutes north that a lot of artists rave about. Studios, one-bedrooms, condos and duplexes right on the water. Not too expensive, but I’m pretty good in picking areas that will explode in a few years, and this is one of those areas.”
“Thanks a lot, that’s so nice of you.”
Max walked away and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Maintaining the patience of her Maxine Adler persona was driving her up a wall. This fake small talk was going to be the death of her.
#
Max left Del Sol and drove to downtown Miami toward Marco’s house. He still lived in Little Cuba, though he’d moved up from the small two-bedroom, one-bath, post-war bungalow he’d lived in with his mother and three younger sisters. He had a newer place closer to the beach, two stories, with three bedrooms and three baths. Half the time one of his sisters was crashing in the downstairs guest room. Fortunately, today, Max had the place to herself.
She’s called Marco when she was on her way—she wasn’t going to show up unannounced, even though she had a key to his place and his security codes—and he offered to meet up with her for the booty call she’d promised.
“Later, I’m working.”
“You’re always working.”
“Pot, meet kettle.”
“Fair enough. Be careful.” He hung up without any other lecture, telling Max that he was in the middle of something important.
At Marco’s she changed from her Maxine Adler dress—comfortable, but certainly not Max Revere’s style—and pulled on a chic pale blue cotton sheath, three-inch heels, and appropriate jewelry. She added a touch more make-up, and pulled her long, dark red hair up into a french twist. Her sweaty neck thanked her.
She confirmed her appointment with the vice president of Premiere Development. She’d wanted the cover from the Fifty-Five Plus magazine just in case one of the people she spoke with followed up. She’d received the confirmation from Carlo, but on the off chance he wanted to screw with her, she’d also called the editor at the magazine. They were on board—at least as much as Max could expect.
Once she arrived at the Premiere office, she didn’t have to wait long.
Richard Warren owned the business with his brother and sister. They’d founded it twenty-five years ago when they first started the Del Sol community. Richard was the oldest of the three at sixty. She’d been surprised that he was the vice-president when his much younger sister was the president of the company and his brother was the CFO. But when she met him it fit—he wore casual golf clothes and had numerous golf trophies displayed in his office. And there was something about his personality—super friendly, but distracted and fidgety, as if he had a form of ADHD.
Richard made easy small talk and brought out water and iced tea to a sitting area on the balcony of his office.
She had read extensively about the company the night before. Rich Warren belonged to the Rotary Club, went to Chamber of Commerce meetings and was a member of two country clubs. He was definitely a people person.
“I was surprised you wanted this interview,” Rich said when he finally sat down and stopped fidgeting. “Fifty-Five Plus has already done two features on our developments, including one on Del Sol. We run a monthly ad with the magazine. But Trish said you had a different angle.” He played with his glass of iced tea, swirling the tea around and making the ice clink against the glass.
So he had followed up on her. And the magazine vouched. She definitely owed Carlo a drink.
“The previous features focused on your overall vision, and the second on Del Sol specifically. What I’m doing is writing with a focus on health—the health aspects of living in an active fifty-five-plus community, especially for widows. Statistically, when one spouse dies, the other spouse’s life span is shorter. It’s difficult to quantify the information, but I have a doctor who is going to discuss the psychological effects of losing a loved one, and the difference when the person is of retirement age.”
He nodded. “Our communities certainly help seniors stay active and connect with others like them. While all our communities are centered around a golf course, we also make sure we have aesthetically pleasing environments, functional homes, swimming pools, and plenty of walking paths. Our newest development is developing a special program for particularly health-conscious seniors and they sponsor a senior five-K run every year.”
“You’re still actively involved in community development. You’re on record as saying, ‘We don’t build and leave.’”
“That’s correct. We maintain full ownership of the properties and hire a management company to run the community.”
This was exactly where Max was going, and she was pleased to get there quickly.
“For Del Sol, you had a property management company, but four years ago, you hired an individual to manage the place—someone who lives on site and is the administrator.” She looked at her notes, though she didn’t have to. “Peter Markson.”
Rich nodded, shifted in his seat, his fingers of his left hand tapping on the arm rest. “Good man. He ran a large facility in Miami—high-end condos. He had a health scare, wanted to cut back on stress, and I knew him from the golf club. It was really a win-win for us. One of the drawbacks of hiring a property management company is that sometimes we don’t have say in staffing decisions. When we inspected our Del Sol property in particular, it didn’t have the vibrancy it had at the beginning. The staff was distant. They didn’t make a connection to the residents. Peter came in, assessed the community, and decided they needed a certain type of personality—people who were engaged with what our seniors were doing, who could sense what they needed. He’s done an amazing job.”
“And his wife is the staff nurse?”
“We have a nurse who comes in daily, but having someone on site 24/7 has been extremely valuable. Making sure that our seniors take their medicine, to know if there is a change in behavior or depression, to be on site in any emergency. Is that your angle?”
“Partly. I want to write about the whole package, with a focus on the health benefits.”
He shook the ice in his glass, sipped. “Love the idea.”
“I was on the Del Sol website and they had a lot of information about Peter Markson, but not Jennifer—only that she’s a registered nurse. Where was she before Del Sol?”
Rich frowned. “Honestly, I don’t remember. A hospital, I believe. She came with solid references. Just because she was married to Peter didn’t mean we didn’t do due diligence.”
The slightly defensive shift told Max that either Rich had suspicions about Jennifer—or she really was hired because she was married to Peter Markson—or he’d had complaints about her in the past. He answered questions she hadn’t even asked.
“Do you have that information in your records? I’d like to find out if she has a background in senior care management, and if so, use that as a jumping off point for other senior communities to consider a similar approach to their business. Especially since there are health benefits to having a medical professional on site full-time.”
“I see, I see. Of course, I’ll have my assistant send you Mrs. Markson’s information. I can also arrange an interview with them, if you’d like.”
“Yes—but not now. I’m still doing my research, and have appointments lined up with a doctor and several other experts. I don’t want to go into an interview blind, meaning,
I don’t want to have to keep following up because I didn’t do my homework.”
Max recognized she was trying to balance her undercover work with her real profession. She was talking to Rich as Maxine Revere, and he might say something to the Markson’s. Maybe she shouldn’t have used her real first name at Del Sol, but it was too late to change now. She needed to be doubly careful.
Rich smiled. “You would get along with my sister. She’s all about crossing Ts and dotting Is.”
“You enjoy your work, don’t you?” she asked.
“Very much.”
Max asked questions about his parents and how they inspired the community, how he and his brother and sister came up with Premiere, and similar background issues that would ostensibly go into an article. But it was all good intel for Max’s book as well—because if someone was killing the residents of Del Sol, she would be writing a book about it. It had everything she liked in a story. A hook. Innocent victims. And a bad guy.
There was certainly a bad guy somewhere. Max just had to find him.
Or her.
It wasn’t Richard Warren. Not only did he get his assistant to give her everything she asked for on Jennifer Markson, he confirmed something else.
He didn’t know Jennifer and Nadine had gone to college together.
“I suppose it’s a small world,” he said when Max asked about their friendship, “but I don’t think they ever mentioned it. Nadine has been at Del Sol twice as long as the Marksons.”
Small world indeed, Max thought, and wondered exactly who had recruited who.
#
Max went to the main Miami library. She needed more information before she talked to Jennifer’s ex-husband. She had a feeling Dr. Christopher O’Neal had the answers she wanted.
Max loved libraries. She had spent dozens of hours at the Columbia Library when in college, and used the this library when she’d been working on her first book.
Max still had her library card for Miami. She sat and started a search of the news archives. Though she could get a lot of information through Internet searches, many newspapers didn’t digitally archive their older editions. She started with the digital library archives, then moved into the microfiche resources.
Three hours later, as her stomach growled because she’d missed lunch, she found the gold nugget.
Beta Chi Zeta Permanently Suspended
The sorority, Beta Chi Zeta, was permanently suspended last night at the college board meeting after a lengthy investigation that included reports of underage drinking and a drug-induced suicide.
The article went on to talk about a girl who had committed suicide after a video was released of her having sex with three different college students.
Okay, maybe not a gold nugget because it didn’t mention Jennifer Markson by name, but this happened while Jennifer and Nadine had both been at UM. The article also mentioned the sorority president by name.
Max logged into a people finder program she subscribed to. It was one many private investigators used, and it was vital in her work as a reporter. It didn’t take her long to learn that the BCZ president, Felicia Olson, had married Joseph Feliciano fifteen years ago and they lived with three children in a pricey Miami neighborhood. Felicia was a registered nurse, but it didn’t appear that she worked anywhere.
Felicia knew both Jennifer and Nadine in college, would have more information than revealed in the article, and maybe could give her some insight into the two women.
Max found a Starbucks on the way from the library to Felicia’s house. She needed something to eat and grabbed a protein box and nonfat latte. She ate as she drove and after popping two aspirin and finishing her coffee felt a hundred percent better.
The Feliciano house was as nice as any in the neighborhood. Felicia’s husband was a doctor who—surprise—worked at the same hospital as Jennifer’s ex, O’Neal.
When Felicia opened the door to Max, Max realized why she was no longer working: she held a toddler on her hip and she was very, very pregnant.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m Maxine Revere. I’m an investigative reporter and would like to talk to you about Jennifer Wesley Markson.”
Her face paled. “Oh, God. What happened?”
“What do you think happened?”
“I—I don’t know. But you’re a reporter.”
“Investigative reporter. Meaning, I’m researching accusations that I can’t print until I verify they are true, and your name came up in the course of my investigation. I’d like to ask you some questions.”
She glanced behind her, then nodded. “We’re not friends. You should know that. I’m not unbiased.”
“I can weed through fact and fiction.” In fact, it was something Max was exceptionally good at, which is why from the minute she met Jennifer Markson she was suspicious of the woman. Something about her didn’t feel right.
“Come in. Give me a minute.”
Max waited in the foyer while Felicia approached her daughter doing homework at the dining table. She spoke quietly to her, then handed off the toddler. Then she spoke to her young son who was playing video games in the family room. Then Felicia returned and led Max down the hall to the large family-style kitchen.
“When are you due?” Max asked, gesturing to her stomach.
“Next month, thank God. Joey was born in September and I thought I would die carrying him through the summer. Humidity and pregnancy don’t go together.”
Felicia retrieved two water bottles from the refrigerator and put one in front of Max, then sat at the round kitchen table in the nook that overlooked a beautiful backyard and pool.
“What do you want to know?”
Max slid over the article she’d printed at the library. “What happened? The article was vague about who was at fault.”
She didn’t read the article. Tears filled her eyes and she drank from her water.
“If you’re asking about Jennifer, I assume you know.”
Max had to weigh the pros and cons of sharing information with this woman. She knew she could get her to talk—Felicia clearly didn’t want to keep secrets, but she wasn’t chatty. “I specialize in cold cases. A resident of Del Sol, where Jennifer is now a full-time nurse, contacted me about a suspicious death. The victim was eighty-two, and some people don’t feel there is anything odd about the death. But there’s more than one suspicious death, and I’m working on getting more details—medical details, as you know, are difficult to legally obtain.”
“You think Jennifer killed someone.”
“You say that as if you’re not surprised.”
“Jennifer’s gotten away with murder before, I wouldn’t be surprised if she got away with it again.” She took a deep breath. “I need to make a call.”
Max tensed. “Who?”
“Someone who knows far more about Jennifer than I do.”
#
For thirty minutes, Felicia left Max alone in the kitchen. Max took the opportunity to pull out her tablet and check her email. Harper had nothing yet, but Max didn’t expect information so quickly. She read up a bit more about the sorority these girls had belonged to, and then sat back and considered what she wanted to know from Felicia and this mystery person she’d invited over.
When the doorbell rang, Max packed up her notes and waited. She heard Felicia whispering with another woman, then they both came in.
“I’m Kerry Osaka,” the petite Japanese woman said. “You want to know about Jennifer Markson.”
After Kerry and Felicia sat down, Max repeated to Kerry what she’d told Felicia. It quickly came clear that Kerry and Felicia were close friends—from the way they glanced at each other, speaking silently. Max had never had that with anyone. Even Karen—Max always knew what Karen was thinking. Well, most of the time. But Karen didn’t really get Max. Few people did.
Kerry tapped the article. “Ginger didn’t commit suicide. Jennifer forced her to take the pills.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “
Forced?”
“Were you in a sorority?”
“No.”
“Then you wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
The girls looked at each other. Girls? They were older than Max, though Max oddly felt like she was the senior member of this group.
It took Kerry a minute to start talking, but Max let her take her time. Rushing her might make her to clam up.
“We were a small, unaffiliated sorority, but had been part of UM for more than thirty years. It was a good group, small, most of us seeking medical careers. An interest-based sorority. But we still did sorority things, especially the parties. We had some of the best parties on campus, but ultimately, those parties led to lots of drinking, sex, drugs—you know the drill.”
“I do.”
Felicia said, “The year after Kerry graduated, when I was president, a party got way out of hand. Ginger had sex with three guys. Jennifer recorded her, then humiliated her by showing it at our chapter meeting. Jennifer had a cruel streak, and she did it just to embarrass Ginger, who had been a virgin until college. Ginger was one of those girls who really wanted to be a good girl, but let herself be pressured into doing things she didn’t really want to do. I talked to Ginger, calmed her down, and our board voted to kick Jennifer out of the sorority. Her best friend, Nadine, was the only one who voted against us, and we kicked Nadine out, too, as an accessory. The next day, Ginger was dead.”
“Nadine is a realtor. I didn’t find a nursing degree or evidence that she’d ever worked in the medical field.”
“She changed her major when she couldn’t keep up with the work. Nadine isn’t dumb, but she was very social and rather lazy. I think she graduated with a degree in marketing.”
Max asked, “How do you know Jennifer forced Ginger to take pills?”
“Forced? Manipulated? I don’t know what you call it. But the morning before Ginger died, Jennifer packed up her things. She was furious she’d been kicked out and blamed all of us, but mostly Ginger. She said something to Ginger that had the poor girl lock herself in her room. She kept insisting she would be fine, but something Jennifer said had Ginger taking an overdose. I’m certain of it.”
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