Dead Air

by Mary Kennedy

  I quickly agreed. We’d have a shot at meeting Travis Carter, or at least visiting Sanjay’s headquarters. I decided it was best to visit the corporate offices unannounced. I was sure Travis would blow me off with some flimsy excuse if I tried to make an appointment to see him. I wanted to have the element of surprise on my side.

  As far as I knew, all the employees were still on duty, and someone must be doing strategic planning for the company. Sanjay the guru was gone, but Sanjay the brand was still going strong. His name and photo were splashed all over the tabloids, and I heard People magazine was doing a cover story on him later in the week. I wondered what it would say about how he died.

  “You know, there was something convincing about the man,” Mom said, cutting into my thoughts. “I hate to say it, but I think Ray Hicks was telling the truth.”

  Mom rolled down the window, and the balmy night air rushed in, tinged with the scent of the sea. If I hadn’t been so preoccupied thinking about Sanjay, I would have enjoyed the drive along the ocean.

  “I know. It means we’re back to square one. I was sure Ray Hicks was our number-one suspect.”

  “And now everything is up for grabs,” she pointed out. “Funny, it goes along with Sanjay’s theory. Just when you think you’ve figured something out, the universe tilts and you’re right back where you started.”

  “Exactly.”

  We rolled into the parking lot of Mom’s condo around nine o’clock and had a late supper of grilled cheese sandwiches and sangria at the kitchen table. Mom drifted off to watch an old Marilyn Monroe movie on Turner Classic Movies, and I decided to go over my suspect list. I poured myself another glass of wine, grabbed a legal pad, and scribbled some notes.

  Travis Carter’s name was now at the head of the list, but realistically, I wouldn’t know anything more until we met up with him tomorrow morning. Still, he was a strong suspect, if Ray Hicks’s story was credible. Money, jealousy, and revenge are proven motivators for murder.

  What did Travis have to gain by Sanjay’s death?

  He must have been angry and resentful at Sanjay’s plan to highjack his book, and maybe he really felt he had no legal recourse. I decided to see what Nick’s take was on all this when I got back home.

  As an investigative reporter, Nick might be able to tell me whether Travis really had no legal recourse, or Ray Hicks was just blowing smoke with the story. And without a manuscript, how would I know if a book even existed—or that Travis really wrote it? Would Travis just wait a decent interval and then peddle the book to a New York publisher or agent himself?

  I made a note to ask Miriam Dobosh about Travis. She’d offered to help out with the investigation, but I remembered Nick’s warning that sometimes the person who offers to help you solve the crime is the guilty party.

  An interesting thought.

  Miriam was still number two on my list. She didn’t appear to be angry or resentful when we met at the Delano Hotel. In fact, she seemed to be protective of Sanjay’s name and reputation. I was drawing a blank on her, and I couldn’t quite get a handle on her motive. Unless she had killed him in a fit of rage.

  Maybe she’d confronted him about Olivia Riggs and he’d blown her off? But how could I ever determine what had really happened between the two of them? Sanjay was dead and Miriam wasn’t talking.

  She must have been furious to think she was going to be replaced by a younger, prettier woman. She would have to be a saint not to be resentful, and I didn’t pick up any celestial vibes from Miriam. Whatever she was feeling, she covered it well.

  I mulled over her situation. Being cast out of Team Sanjay would like being thrown off the island on Survivor.

  And that was exactly what had happened to Lenore Cooper, I reminded myself. Was there a pattern here? Sanjay used women and then discarded them. First Lenore and then Miriam, but how did this all tie together? And were there other women, ones I hadn’t even met yet?

  I didn’t see how Miriam would have anything to gain from Sanjay’s death, at least from a financial point of view. As far as I knew, she was losing her job. But was she really going to be replaced by Olivia Riggs, the blonde I found crying in the ladies’ room at the Seabreeze Inn?

  Miriam had been dismissive of Olivia and claimed she was delusional. Who was telling the truth? I wished I’d thought to get Olivia’s address. It would be good to catch up with her again, and I regretted the missed opportunity. She might have been able to tell me what Miriam had really thought about Sanjay.

  I found myself drawing a circle around Miriam’s name. Then I put little stars around it. I was really just doodling, the way I used to do when I was talking with a particularly difficult patient. The patient thought I was writing down every word that came out of his or her mouth, but really, I was just drawing as a way to center myself. I found it calming to make some sketches and turned my chair at an angle so the patient couldn’t see my scribbles.

  Miriam was still a possibility. Revenge would be the motive. Though who would want to face a murder charge just to settle a score?

  I put an asterisk next to Miriam’s name and drew a line on the page, connecting her with Lenore Cooper, who was number three on my list. Lenore had every reason to be furious with Sanjay, but still, what would she gain from his death? Her books weren’t selling well while he was alive, and unless she wrote a juicy tell-all, she probably wouldn’t gain a penny from his death.

  My thoughts drifted to Kathryn Sinclair. She flatly believed that Sanjay had almost killed her daughter. She had every reason to be angry with him, and she’d told me at the memorial service that she was glad he was dead. You can’t get more specific than that. She was number four on the list. The problem was, I didn’t really have any new information on her.

  All I knew was that she was very angry.

  Still, did she have what it took to be a killer? I thought of the perfectly coiffed hair, the designer clothes, and the professionally bleached teeth. Not to mention the thousand-dollar Ferragamo shoes. For some reason, I couldn’t imagine anyone with expensive shoes and a French manicure murdering someone, which is probably a personal idiosyncrasy on my part.

  I remembered a case in Houston, Texas. Clara Harris caught her husband cheating and confronted him with his mistress in the parking lot of a hotel. She ran him over three times with her Mercedes, killing him.

  So even well-dressed women can be killers. And usually the motive is money or revenge. I put a big question mark near Kathryn Sinclair’s name.

  Of course, there was also her daughter, Sarah, whom I hadn’t met yet. If anyone had the right to be angry, Sarah certainly did. She’d been hospitalized because of Team Sanjay’s insensitivity to her medical condition. She might have died because of their carelessness.

  But somehow I pictured her as a rather timid, powerless person, probably not able to murder anyone. Maybe it was time to track her down. I wondered whether Kathryn would give me her daughter’s contact information, and I was afraid that she might not. I wondered how Sanjay’s death had affected her. It sounded like she’d been traumatized by the dreadful encounter group, and maybe she’d be unwilling to talk about Sanjay. She might feel like she was being victimized all over again, forced to relive unhappy memories.

  After a cup of peppermint tea and another half hour of musing, I decided to hit the sack. I still was no closer to solving Sanjay’s murder, and I could only hope that Travis Carter would be the break I needed. He certainly had motive, but did he have means and opportunity? That remained to be seen.

  Early the next morning, I checked in with Vera Mae, who insisted that she was holding down the fort at WYME and there was no need for me to hurry back. She told me that Cyrus was rerunning some of my most popular shows and that several listeners had sent me cards and flowers. I checked my voice mail. A few messages from Nick, but nothing that couldn’t wait for another day. I caught myself thinking about Rafe Martino and was oddly disappointed that I hadn’t heard from the hunky detective. No news is good n
ews, right? What was wrong with me? Could it be that I actually missed seeing him? Just thinking about his sexy smile and smoldering eyes gave me a little buzz inside that warmed me clear down to my toes.

  I gave myself a mental shake. The last thing I needed right now was Rafe Martino. He would only be a distraction, and for all I knew, the next time I saw him, he might be slipping handcuffs on Lark.

  “Delete, delete,” I muttered. That’s a thought-stopping technique I used to teach to my obsessive clients. It’s a way of banishing an intrusive thought or image, and unlike many psychological interventions, this one actually works. Bingo. In an instant, Rafe’s face disappeared.

  I left a quick message at the condo for Lark, and then threw on a vintage Lily Pulitzer and sandals. The clock was ticking and I needed to track down Travis before the DA decided to convene a grand jury to indict Lark. All they had to go on was circumstantial evidence, but from what Nick had told me, that might be enough.

  The thought sent a chill through me.

  After a light breakfast of coffee and croissants, Mom and I hit the road once more, headed south for Sanjay, Ltd. We zipped through the historical section of South Beach, past the big hotels and Calle Ocho, until we found ourselves on a wide avenue lined with stately palms. This was the Robb Report version of South Beach, a place filled with pricey real estate, fabulous yachts, and expensive cars. Old money, new money—it didn’t matter. It took big bucks to live here.

  I spotted a sprawling Spanish-style mansion just ahead of us, complete with a red tile roof, a creamy white stucco exterior, and masses of expensive landscaping. An underground sprinkling system kept the grass lush and green in the Florida heat. A couple of bored-looking flamingos were hanging out on a pond dotted with water lilies, and there was a tennis court planted next to the house. It was a blisteringly hot day, and the court was empty. I doubted Sanjay played much tennis, remembering that sizable gut lurking underneath those white robes.

  Was this even the right place? There wasn’t a corporate logo anywhere, but the GPS system confirmed it. This dazzling mansion, looking like something straight out of the set of Miami Vice, was the headquarters for Sanjay, Ltd.

  But how to get inside? Those elaborate Graceland-style gates looked like they could withstand a horde of rampaging Visigoths. All I had going for me was Mom and my elderly Honda.

  I was pondering my next move when a golden opportunity dropped into my lap. A FedEx truck pulled around and stopped at the black wrought-iron gates. After a moment, the driver leaned out the window and said something into a squawk box mounted on a wooden pole.

  “Go!” Mom urged. The moment the gates swung open, the FedEx truck barreled through and I zipped in right after him, just inches away from his rear bumper. The gates swung closed slowly behind us. So far, so good.

  I realized I was holding my breath and let it out in a soft whoosh. We were inside the Sanjay compound!

  No alarm sounded, so I assumed no one had spotted us. We were safe for the moment. I pulled up behind a giant pink hibiscus bush on a little side path leading to the swimming pool on the left wing of the house. The mansion was still in sight, but I felt confident we were hidden from anyone peeking out the front windows.

  I cut off the engine and watched silently, waiting.

  Mom raised her eyebrows. “What’s going on? What’s the problem?” She was whispering, even though there was no one to hear us.

  “Let’s see if he gets inside or if he just leaves the package at the front door.”

  As if on cue, the heavy double doors swung open and a petite blonde accepted the FedEx package and signed for it. I watched while the driver got back in the van, gunned the engine, and spun down the driveway. I craned my neck to watch. The gigantic gates swung open for him, and he passed through.

  “Well?” Mom asked.

  “I’m thinking,” I told her. Actually, I was stumped. How to get inside?

  “Well, so am I,” she said tartly. With that, she yanked open her car door and swung her legs outside. She reached behind her for her tote bag, which was lying on the seat.

  “What do you think you’re doing? Where are you going?” I hissed. She ignored me, so I jumped out of the car, too, hurrying to catch up with her. She was moving at a good clip along a narrow path made of oyster shells that led past a small pool cabana to the main house.

  She turned around to smile at me. “Why, I’m going inside the mansion, dear. I would think that would be obvious.”

  Chapter 26

  Before I knew what was happening, Mom had reached the mansion and was rapping smartly on the mission-style front door with the brass handle.

  “Mom, what are you doing?”

  She put her finger to her lips. “Shh. Let me handle this.” My heart was in my throat when the door suddenly swung open and one of Team Sanjay’s goons was framed in the doorway, staring at us. He had a shaved head and some vine-leaf tats winding around his neck and was wearing a black Team Sanjay T-shirt that showed off his ripped biceps. The guy was buff and dangerous looking. His arms were too long for his body, giving him a vaguely simian appearance. If he recognized me from my attempt to butt into Sanjay’s workshop at the Seabreeze Inn, he gave no sign.

  “Whaddaya want?” he growled.

  Before he could react, Mom pushed past him into the enormous marble foyer. “FedEx!” Her tone was crisp. “We have a rush delivery.”

  “FedEx?” It took a few seconds for the synapses in his brain to connect, and then suspicion registered in his beady dark eyes. “They were just here.”

  “Yes, I know; we couldn’t get back in past the gate, and we have an urgent delivery for a Mr. Travis Carter. Our colleague left it in the truck by mistake. Very sorry about this.” To my amazement, she produced a FedEx envelope from behind her back and pretended to be scrutinizing the address on the front.

  I peered over her shoulder to read the writing. The envelope was blank.

  “Mr. Travis Carter, of Sanjay, Limited. And I’ll need a signature.”

  “Okay, I’ll take it up to him.” The thug reached for the envelope, but Mom was too quick for him and clasped it to her chest.

  “Oh, sorry, this has to be delivered personally. Company rules. It’s a highly sensitive document, and our instructions are to deliver it only to Mr. Carter.” She raised her eyebrows and stared him down. “If we can’t deliver it to him directly, I’m ordered to take it back to the truck. And that means the addressee will have to drive all the way down to our main office in Miami to pick it up. Is Mr. Carter here?”

  The goon glanced over his shoulder at the stairwell leading to the second floor. “Yeah, but, I just told you—”

  “Then, no problem. We’ll just find our way upstairs and give it to him. You can go back to whatever you were doing.” Her tone was imperious, very Leona Helmsley. “We know the way. We’ve made deliveries here many times before. You must be new to the organization.” A clever touch. Put goon guy on the defensive. A not-so-subtle put-down.

  I was stunned, impressed as always by Mom’s quick thinking. All her theatre training had paid off in ways I never could have predicted.

  He looked puzzled but quickly went back on the offensive. “Hey, you’re not wearing a FedEx uniform,” he said, pointing accusingly to her. “And neither are you,” he said, whirling around to confront me. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’d been hiding behind Mom, hoping we could both make a quick getaway if things turned sour.

  “Well, of course not. It’s dress-down Friday,” she said gaily, trotting up a wide, sweeping staircase that looked like it belonged in Tara, the mansion in Gone with the Wind. “We’ll just be a sec.”

  “Today ain’t Friday.”

  I thought for a moment, but as usual, Mom was quicker. “It’s a leap year.”

  “Huh?”

  And with that, we barreled up the stairs to the second floor, ready to confront the unsuspecting Travis Carter.

  “Quite an operation,” Mom muttered, hurrying past rece
ption areas, media rooms, and what looked like a suite of offices. The place was a labyrinth, buzzing with people, and Mom’s Ferragamos were tapping a brisk staccato on the pink marble floor. I was trotting along at her heels like a dutiful border collie, eyes front and center.

  “Where are we going?” I looked around worriedly, expecting to be stopped at any moment.

  “I have no idea,” she hissed, “but just keep walking fast, and look confident.” She stopped to nod and smile at a harried young blonde in a black suit who was carrying a giant file box. “Hellooo!” Mom said gaily. The girl gave her a quick nod and turned down a corridor to a door marked PUBLICITY AND PROMOTIONS.

  “That was nice,” I said admiringly. “She didn’t try to stop us.”

  “Of course not. You just have to look confident, Maggie; that’s the secret. Look like you belong here. You can pretend you’re playing a part, if that helps.”

  “I’ll try to,” I muttered. I flashed a nod and a smile at three young men who were walking toward us, deep in a conversation about stock options. They barely glanced at me and certainly didn’t challenge me, so maybe Mom was right after all.

  “Where can Travis be?” Mom said, looking at the maze of corridors. “I’d like to meet with him alone. At least we have the element of surprise. But I’m not sure where to start.”

  “That goon downstairs will come looking for us any second, Mom. What if he calls upstairs to Travis and says we insisted on making the delivery ourselves? Travis will be on the lookout for us. He’ll know we’re up to something.”

  Mom smiled and patted my arm. “You worry too much, dear. Far too much. And you would think that in your line of work, you would know how to deal with stress—” Mom broke off suddenly and pulled me into an alcove. “Isn’t that Travis?” she whispered. “Quick, get out the photo.”