Leonard couldn’t quite process that. “A one bedroom apartment? She’s worth millions.”
“She’s not fond of overnight guests,” Skyler said with a grimace. “It’s a 3,000 square foot behemoth with one bedroom. It’s more like a bowling alley. Actually, I think it used to be a bowling pin factory back in the 30s or 40s. It’s been photographed for magazines.”
“Does she even know we’re here?”
“I didn’t tell her, no. Keep it off social media.”
He almost choked on his wine. “Please. I never use Facebook or Twitter or any of that waste of time crap.”
“Good,” she said. It was then that a tall, dark figure caught her eye. “Well, I’ll be damned. There’s Solis.”
Leonard turned his head to the left to see Ricardo Solis descending the grand marble staircase with a striking blonde woman on his arm. “And that is most decidedly not Mrs. Solis.”
“Why do you say that?” Skyler asked.
“Because there were tons of pictures of her in the Miami house and because I Googled him and came up with dozens of photos of the two of them at charity events and premieres and stuff like that. They’re quite the social butterflies. His wife’s name is Maribelle.”
“Who told you that he was in New York with his wife?”
“Frank West from the Miami-Dade PD. He texted me. Apparently—and conveniently for us—the FBI has been keeping very close tabs on Ricardo of late. They share that information with Frank and he shared it with me.”
“Do you know why the FBI is on Solis’ ass?”
“No. He didn’t get into details. And I don’t know why West texted me. Maybe he thinks New York is close to Wabanaki. He’s a lifelong Floridian, he might not know the difference.”
Skyler watched out of the corner of her eye as the couple were sat at a table six away from their own, close to the bar at the far end of the room. Leonard had his back to them. “What do we do now?” Skyler asked.
“I want to march right up to him and punch him in the face, but that won’t do any good. I don’t want to confront him in front of the woman, I don’t suppose. Geez, I don’t know. What are we even doing here?”
“Calm down,” Skyler said. She took a sip of her wine, trying her very best to savor each several-dollar sip. “If I know women, and I do, she’ll excuse herself and go to the ladies’ room soon after they place their order. It happens like clockwork. Maybe that’s a good time for you to saunter over there. Act like it’s a coincidence. Be super friendly. Don’t ask any questions. Then continue to the men’s room. Let’s just see how he reacts to seeing you here.”
Leonard was smiling ear to ear. “You might be the smartest woman I’ve ever met. And you’re a product of the Wabanaki school system?”
“I did go to an ivy league college after that,” she said.
“William & Mary is an ivy league school? What does that even mean?”
“Okay, I’m not getting into this with you right now,” she said, her eyes on Solis and his date. “And I was right. She’s getting up and taking her little purse with her, but she left a cardigan behind. Go.”
Leonard downed his champagne and headed across the marble floor toward the restrooms. He looked casually to his right, cocked his head, and made a beeline to the dry cleaner’s table. “Ricardo Solis? It’s Leonard Little. I was at your house in Miami last week.”
“Officer Little,” the man said, clearly perplexed. “What brings you to New York City?” He rose slightly out of his chair and extended his hand. The two men shook hands tightly and Leonard dropped down into the lady’s seat.
“What the fuck are you doing paying Augie Alameda $150,000 for?”
Solis inhaled, held it, and tilted his head slightly. “Excuse me?”
“Do you know who Augie Alameda is?”
“I do not,” he spit.
“Did you not send $150,000 to an offshore, numbered account and then direct that money to be sent to a social media influencer here in Manhattan and then ask that man to promote Wabanaki, Maine in his posts?”
“Have you lost your fucking mind? How dare you confront me in public and spew this craziness at me? Perhaps you’re still reeling from your wife’s death—and I’m so very sorry about that—but as I told you before, I had absolutely nothing to do with it. I have never been to Maine. I don’t know this social media whatever person. And I certainly did not pay anyone $150,000 to do anything. Where are you getting these crazy ideas?”
“Where is your wife?”
“I don’t know how that is any of your business, but she’s in the bathroom.”
Leonard was thrown. “Excuse me?”
Solis looked to his right and saw Maribelle returning to the table. “Little, I swear to God, don’t fuck this up and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” Ricardo and Leonard both got to their feet as Maribelle approached. Leonard could see now that this was indeed the Mrs. Solis he saw in the photographs, albeit with a bleached mane of hair. “Maribelle, this is Leonard Little. We did some business in Miami. He just stopped by to say hello.”
The striking woman shook hands with Leonard then reclaimed her seat. “Mr. Little, what brings you to New York City? Escaping the heat, like us?”
“Absolutely,” Leonard managed. “We’re here to see a few shows and do some shopping.”
Maribelle’s face lit up. “Why, that’s exactly what we’re doing. We’re seeing Top Gun: The Musical tonight. I’ve heard good things.”
“Oh me, too,” Leonard lied. “Listen, I need to get back to my date. You guys have a great time, and Ricardo, please give me a call when you have a few minutes this week. I really need to pick your brain about a few things. We’re in New York until Saturday.” He bowed slightly and returned to his table.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Skyler said under her breath.
“That’s his wife, with new hair.”
“Okay. Why did you sit down?”
“I might have accidently told him everything we know. I didn’t learn anything, but he’s going to call me when he’s alone. I told him we’d be here until Saturday.”
Skyler pushed food around on her plate. “Seriously, what part of the plan didn’t you understand?”
“I think being forward and direct is the best approach,” Leonard said. “Plus, I panicked.”
“This is going to get expensive.”
* * *
While his wife busied herself with her pocket-sized New York City travel book, Ricardo Solis Googled Augie Alameda and found scores of posts, articles, and photos. The man was a one-stop media machine with millions of followers and a decidedly upscale roster of clients. He was recommending five-star restaurants one minute, a posh jewelry designer the next, and a Caribbean yacht charter company after that. And just a few days back, he was gushing over a Wabanaki lobster roll that made him euphoric. Solis had never heard of Alameda and couldn’t grasp how anyone could or would try to link him with…
“Maribelle.”
“Mmmm,” she replied, not looking up from her book. “We could go to Sardi’s after the show for a late-night bite. Apparently, it’s a good place to see Broadway stars. It’s the place with all the caricatures on the walls.”
“Big whoop,” Ricardo said, “The Palm restaurant does that, too. We have one in Miami. Hey, have you ever heard of a guy named Augie Alameda?”
Maribelle nearly dropped her book. She looked up at her husband. “Augie, who?”
“Alameda. Do you follow him on Instagram? I know you’re on there 24/7. He posts about all the shit you love.”
“Oh, I guess so, Ric. I follow thousands of people. He might be one of them. Why?”
He wanted to play this very carefully. He needed more time. “Ehh, just wondering. He posts a lot about expensive things you like to buy.”
“I’m surprised that woul
d even register with you, baby. You don’t care about that kind of stuff.”
“He apparently likes this place, is all,” Ricardo said, “I Googled the Champagne Bar at the Plaza.”
“How about you put away your phone, and I’ll put away my silly tourist book, and we can savor this amazing caviar and champagne, huh?”
“Good idea, mi mujer.”
THIRTY-FOUR
At a low-key ceremony in a courthouse conference room late Friday morning, Mayor Lois Millhouse administered the oath of office for the 17th Sheriff of Wabanaki, Maine, to Miss Kristin Grant. The small group in attendance included Kristin’s fellow deputies—who all seemed in agreement that she was the best candidate for the job—as well as her parents and brother, town treasurer Shelby Taralavi, a reporter from the Wabanaki newspaper, and Porter Maddox.
All but the reporter retired to the Chowder House afterwards for a celebratory luncheon hosted by the Mayor.
“Who’s running things here now?” Porter asked Lois after they’d ordered.
“Karen Jenkins put a waitress named Shea in charge until she can figure things out. Karen talked about selling the restaurant. Want to buy it?”
“Oh no,” Porter said. “I’m done with the restaurant game. The fire at the Shanty didn’t help matters.”
“It’s a shame, that place,” the mayor said. “I have an idea for you, however. Something I think you’d be very good at. You certainly can’t spend the rest of your life doing nothing up there over my garage.”
“Do tell.”
“I don’t want to step on Sheriff Grant’s new jurisdiction, but I think you’d make a fine addition to the force. Your quick thinking the other night might just have saved a few lives.”
He stammered for a minute, then managed, “I wish I could have saved everyone.”
“I know. We all do. Will you give it some thought? We’re down a deputy and I suspect we’re going to lose Leonard soon.”
“Porter Maddox, a cop,” he said. “It’s not an entirely crazy idea, I guess.”
“You’d have to go to the academy up in Portland to train. But the city pays for that. And we have a budget now, thanks to my lawyers and my dead husband.”
Porter smiled. “I guess I’m game.”
“Good. I’ll mention is to Kristin after lunch. Let’s eat.”
* * *
News doesn’t stay news very long in a small town and it wasn’t but a few hours before Gerald Gains and Vice President Daryl Farr were knocking on Sheriff Grant’s new office door. She was dreading this moment and wasn’t the least bit surprised that it was happening so fast. They each had a lot on the line.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Kristin said confidently. “How can I help you?”
“Sheriff Grant,” Gerald said as the two men took seats in front of her desk. “You don’t waste any time, do you, kid?”
“Thank our very efficient and clever mayor for that, Mr. Gains. And I really would rather that you not call me a kid.”
The Vice President was unimpressed. He kept staring at Kristin. “I never thought Wabanaki would see the day.”
“It’s the twenty-first century, Mr. Vice President. This country nearly had a woman as president, if you’ll recall. I think the good people of Wabanaki are evolved enough to accept a woman in this position. Is there something I can do for you two?”
“We’d actually like to remind you of a few things…” Gerald began.
Kristin held up a finger. “I’ll stop you right there and save us all a lot of time and misery.” She got up, closed her office door, then pulled her digital recorder from a desk drawer and placed it upright on the desk. She sat back down and faced the confused men.
“You’re most certainly not going to tape this conversation,” Daryl said flatly.
“You’re right, I am not. Because I already taped a conversation between Mr. Gains and myself last week. I’ll play you just a portion.” And she did so. And she got much satisfaction watching the blood rush out of their faces. She turned off the recorder and placed it back in her desk drawer.
“This is all very simple, so pay attention,” she began. “I’m going to keep the tape and you two are going to leave me and the Wabanaki Police Department the hell alone. I’ll never mention this to anyone and you two will not mention it to anyone. You’ll leave Porter Maddox alone, too. Neither of you will drink and drive, and you won’t pay women to have sex with you unless you’re in Nevada. I have another copy of the audio file in a safe place and if anything should happen that incapacitates or kills me, my last will and testament calls for the file to be released to the media. Simple as that.”
Gerald and Daryl didn’t say a word, nor did they look at each other.
“Your decades of bullying and getting away with shit are over, gentleman. Now get the fuck out of my new office and go play some golf or something. You’re both very lucky men that I’m not taking this further. Have a good day.”
The men left quietly and Kristin finally allowed herself to exhale. She put her feet up on the desk and decided that she was going to like this job very much.
* * *
That evening, Kristin stopped by the Millhouse manor on her way home from work. She parked in the back driveway and climbed the stairs to the apartment over the garage. She knocked on the door and smiled when she saw Porter’s face. He was sober and newly energized and it was written all over him.
“Hi,” she said. “Can I come in?”
They sat in the living room with glasses of pinot grigio; it was boxed wine that Porter bought at Target, but Kristin didn’t care. She too had simple tastes.
“The mayor told me her idea for you and I am 110% behind the idea, if you’re interested.”
“You don’t think my time in jail and all the Gains stuff is going to hurt me?”
“Nope. This isn’t the big city, Porter. We don’t have the same rules. As long as you’re not a habitual drug user and as long as you don’t drink on the job and as long as you don’t flunk out of the training academy, then I think you’d make a fine police officer.”
He hesitated bringing it up, but it had to be said, “And my face. Don’t you think it’s going to be hard for people to deal with a cop who looks like he was burned in a fire?”
“You were burned in a fire. And people here know that. And those people who don’t know it don’t matter. No one alive—no one—is perfect. But you have two arms, two legs, and two eyes, and I bet you’ll be very good with a gun.”
“I guess so. I’ve never even held a gun.”
“There are just two other things,” Kristin said, scooting a little closer to him on the couch. “You can’t burn anything down, you can’t kill anyone’s animals, and you can’t ever break into the city morgue again. You made quite a mess for the poor mortician, you know. Those bodies were totally warm when he got to work the next day. They all had to be cremated immediately. It was so gross.”
Porter was stunned and couldn’t fathom why he was hearing about this for the first time, nor why he hadn’t been arrested for it.
It was as if Kristin could read his mind. “There are surveillance cameras at the morgue now. And with everything going on around town lately, that little crime of yours was pushed to the back burner. But now, it’s completely wiped clean. No one outside of this room, who’s not dead, knows that it was you who turned off the switch. So, we’ll leave it at that. Can I trust you now?”
“You can. Turning over the proverbial leaf. I already promised myself, so it’s easy to make that promise to you.”
“Good.” And she moved even closer and kissed him deeply on the mouth. And then, she spent the night with her new rookie, in his apartment over the garage.
THIRTY-FIVE
When Ricardo Solis called and asked to meet at a tiny hole in the wall bar near Times Square, Leonard was intrigued, but a bit nervou
s. The man suggested eight o’clock. Being a Friday night, Leonard just assumed that the Miami couple would be attending a Broadway show.
“Maribelle insisted on going and she seemed fine going it alone. I refuse to see Phantom again. Once was enough. Actually, never would have been fine with me.” He also asked Leonard to come alone. “Tell her where you’re going, by all means. But I just want it to be a one-on-one conversation, if that’s okay.”
Leonard agreed.
At a few minutes past eight, Leonard squeezed his way past the people sitting and standing at the bar in the narrow front room of Jimmy’s Corner, a boxing-themed bar on West 44th Street. He found Ricardo Solis sitting at a small table near the bathroom.
“It’s not fancy,” Solis said, “but some colorful characters love it and I love places that they love.”
“Good enough reason,” Leonard said, settling in across from the man that had slept with his wife.
“And the drinks aren’t outrageous like the rest of Manhattan. Did you see those prices at the Plaza? I have money, man, and I was shocked.”
Leonard nodded at a passing waitress who said she’d be right back.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but I did some checking and it turns out that my wife paid this Alameda fellow. She doesn’t know that I know, because I’m not sure exactly how to handle this situation with her, but…there you go.”
“There you go? What do you mean by that? She paid Alameda to promote a seaside town in Maine for what earthly reason? What does she get out of it? And where did she get $150,000 without you knowing about it anyway?”
“Officer, my wife is the one with the real money and connections. I may have seventy-two dry cleaning stores all over Florida, but my wife’s family has a hundred times what I have. And, let’s just say, her family’s money was not made by doing anything as clean as washing and ironing dress shirts.”
The Maine Nemesis Page 28