Swan Song (Julie O'Hara Mystery Series) (6 page)

“So, he’s the one McPhee spoke with?”

“Yes. He said to go in the second entrance and they’d direct us to the barn.”

They turned in and were surprised to discover that the stable area consisted of
forty
barns! And they were
big
, with thirty-six stalls each. Palm Meadows was three-hundred plus landscaped acres with a grid of horse paths connecting all the barns to a track. It was a state-of-the-art facility where thoroughbreds were never subjected to pavement. For the uninitiated, however, it was a dirt path maze. Fortunately, they were given a map with directions to barn ten, stall twenty-two, where they hoped to find Jack Folsom.

If they were two minutes later, they would have missed him.

There was a commotion outside stall twenty-two. A jockey was mounting “Pair-O-Dice”- a huge, dark-chocolate horse with a double diamond blaze on his forehead. The excited animal couldn’t seem to stand still. The trainer led the horse forward a few feet and settled him down. Folsom had short, dark hair parted nearly in the middle and a sinewy strength about him that reminded Julie of the boxers of yesteryear.

“Hi,” he said, turning toward them, “Joe Garrett?”

“Yep. You must be Mr. Folsom,” said Joe. “This is Julie O’Hara.”

They all shook hands.

“Call me Jack. Nice to meet you. This is Carlos,” he said, indicating the jockey, who smiled, acknowledging them. “We’re headed to the track. Pair-O-Dice is breezing today and we don’t have a lot of time. Do you mind talking while we walk?”

“No, not at all,” said Joe as they fell in step next to him.

“Did you say ‘breezing’?” asked Julie. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard that term; what does it mean?”

“Pair-O-Dice has been doing slow gallops for the last few days. Today he’ll ‘breeze’ at racing speed. The turf track is only open for breezing for an hour, so we need to get right over there,” he said. “You wanted to talk to me about Beau Grande and Linc Tyler?”

“Yes,” said Joe. “Beau Grande came down on the twenty-seventh of January to train for the race on February fourth. Do you remember
when
he arrived that day?”

“It was around dinner time, five or six o’clock. I remember because I was tired and I wanted to go eat, but I had to wait for Beau Grande.”

“Did Lincoln leave after turning the horse over to you?” asked Julie.

“No, he helped me get Beau Grande settled in for the night, and then we left.”

“You went out to eat?”

“Nah, I was too beat. I went back to the pavilion here at Palm Meadows. I’m leasing a one-bedroom apartment for the season. I invited Linc to come over for a sandwich and a beer, told him he could sleep on the couch if he wanted to, but he said he was all set, he had a room at the Best Western.
Didn’t blame him. That’s a long ride for a sandwich and a couch.”

Pair-O-Dice snorted and started dancing around again.

“Almost there, boy, almost there,” soothed the trainer, picking up the pace a bit. The horse calmed down almost immediately and they resumed their walk.

“Sorry,” said Folsom. “Pair-O-Dice loves to run. He senses it when we’re gonna let him go; makes him antsy. What did you ask me?”

“I was asking if Lincoln Tyler was here the next morning,” said Joe.

“Oh, yeah.
Linc always comes by first thing in the morning to watch. I usually have the jockey pick it up down the stretch to see what kind of shape the horse is in. Lots of handicappers out here in the morning.”

“What time would that be?” asked Julie.

“Six-thirty.”

“So you saw Lincoln here?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I did,” said Folsom.

They had reached the track.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I can’t talk to you guys anymore. I got a horse to run. I gotta get him out there
now
,” said Folsom leading Pair-O-Dice onto the turf.

“No problem,” called Joe after the trainer. “Thanks! Good luck in the race!”

“Well, it wasn’t a total waste,” said Joe, as they walked back to the Land Rover. “Pair-O-Dice looks like a good bet.”

“What about the Best Western?” asked
Julie.

“McPhee already confirmed that Linc checked in there that night. Of course, there’s no way to know when he left.”

“I don’t think Folsom knows if Lincoln Tyler was here that morning or not,” said Julie. “I don’t pretend to be able to read someone’s body language while they’re leading a skittish horse. Still, for my money, I think he’s standing up for Linc, giving him the benefit-of-the-doubt out of friendship.”

“Yeah, I’d put my money on that one, too.”

“You know what else, Joe? Maybe Folsom
couldn’t
see everybody hanging around the track that day. I know for a fact that at six-thirty that morning in Orlando it was
dark and foggy.
What are the odds it was like that here?”

“Better than Pair-O-Dice,” said Joe.

* * * * * 

Chapter 9

A
t exactly quarter past four on Thursday, Julie stepped into the law office of Porter & Brandt for her solo meeting with Lee Porter. She recalled the last time she had seen him, all decked out in a tuxedo. Could it be that he looked even better in a regular suit? Due to good genes and money,
Lee Porter was younger looking than his forty-five years. He was about six feet tall and fit, thanks to a tennis club membership. His dark hair was shot through with silver-gray.

He rose from his desk to shake her hand.

“Hello, Ms. O’Hara, I’m Lee Porter. What can I do for you?”

“Please call me Julie. Actually, we’ve met before…at a charity event…the Black and White Ball? Your wife, Sylvia, introduced us, although she may have used my business name, ‘Merlin’.” Julie reached into a side pocket of her purse and handed him a card.

“Oh, of course!” he said, hitting his forehead in a classic ‘boy-am-I-dumb’ gesture. “I believe we’ve seen each other at the courthouse, too. You were working with John Tate. Sorry, Julie. I didn’t connect the names.”

“No apology necessary,” said Julie with a chuckle. “It’s not the first time.”

“So…Evelyn told me you came by a couple days ago with Joe Garrett?”

“Yes. You know that Joe is working for Frank and Betty Wieland, looking into the circumstances of their daughter’s death. I live next to Lake
Eola, Lee. I was there the morning they found her. Suffice to say that I signed on to help her parents get some closure.”

Lee sat back with his arms loosely crossed, a guarded gesture.

“So…what can I do for you?”

Julie figured that Evelyn had told him about their inquiry regarding the letter. She plowed ahead, presuming it had gone to the Florida Real Estate Commission.

“I understand there was a letter about Bay Street Realty sent to FREC. Do you recall the particulars of the complaint?”

Lee visibly relaxed, unconsciously unbuttoning his jacket and leaning forward.

“Yes. Yes, I do. That was Mike Menello, a contractor. He got caught up in building spec houses during the boom. He paid top dollar for three lakefront lots in Quill Creek. Built two McMansions before the bottom fell out of the market.”

“Did he lose them?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, his brow furrowed in thought, his chin in his hand. “He went belly-up, lost everything. Even his own house, I think, which was mortgaged to the hilt. He blamed the seller for inflating the price of the lots, accused him of conspiring with the appraiser. Of course it wasn’t true. Everything was inflated back then.”

“How long ago was that, do you remember?”

“Nine, ten months ago.”

“The seller listed with Bay Street Realty,” said Julie.

Lee nodded, concern written on his face.

“Yes…and Dianna was his agent.”

•

As Julie fought the evening traffic on her way back to her condo, she was consumed with curiosity about this man, Mike
Menello.

Financial disaster had driven a lot of people to commit desperate acts. What kind of a person was he? Could he have blown this incident with Dianna out of all proportion and lost it? Julie wondered what possible excuse she could drum up to meet with the man.
She was definitely going to run this by Joe.

She wished she had more time to devote to their investigation. She was still working on the revision of her book,
Clues.
The manuscript was, in fact, beside her in her briefcase. It would consume her evening and, no doubt, some of tomorrow. Although she had plans to have dinner with Joe tomorrow night, she decided to call him as soon as she got home to tell him about this guy.

Could the contractor have killed Dianna?

* * * * * 

Chapter 10

H
e sat with his head in his hands, running them through his hair, massaging his temples. How could he have been so stupid to have gone back there in the morning? Frustration from the night before, that’s what it was. It came back to him with crystal clarity, the terrible consequences having seared every detail into his brain.

•

He had been driving slowly through her darkened Bay Hill neighborhood once again, circling, keeping watch on her townhouse. There was nowhere to park the SUV where he could keep the house in view and not be noticed. It was getting late, after ten o’clock, and he was about ready to give it up. He had to get up early the next day.

Just as the townhouse came into sight again, she came out and got into her car. His heartbeat quickened, and he sucked in his breath as he felt himself hardening. The white Lexus pulled out onto Apopka-Vineland Road.

He had followed discretely, a couple cars behind. When she headed for Interstate 4, he’d known exactly where she was going. She was headed to Lake Eola again, to the condo. She would drive down the side street and turn into the residents’ parking lot behind the building. He was throbbing, beyond excited. It was payback time.

How could you do that to me, you bitch?

He’d pulled into the passing lane on I-4 and floored it.

Franklin was a quiet street, lined with big trees. He would get there before her. He thought about the knife in the glove compartment. It was late and dark behind that building. It would only take a minute or two. He would force her into the SUV.

Exiting I-4 into the Downtown area, he’d taken Rosalind Ave north to East Robinson and turned left onto the familiar street. He passed the condo building with its tiered balconies, and turned into the darkened parking lot, backing into a space that gave him a clear view of the entrance. Invisible behind the tinted glass, he’d waited, stroking himself.

It wasn’t a long wait. The Lexus made the turn into Franklin and slowed to a near stop at the entrance to the parking lot…a moment passed…and she continued on up the street.

What the hell was she doing?

And then he’d understood. She thought the parking lot was full! She couldn’t see the couple remaining spaces to his left. Quickly, he followed her, just in time to see the Lexus turn right at the intersection. She was headed around the block, probably looking for a parking space.

She had turned right onto East Robinson once again. She passed Franklin and quickly pulled left into a small parking area on the other side of the street, next to the lake. He pulled into the next driveway, the Eola Park Center parking lot. He wasn’t six feet from her, across a narrow, down-sloping strip of grass. He grabbed the knife, flicked it open and started to get out, glancing behind them. Cars were passing intermittently on the busy street.

Fuming, he whacked the knife closed, nicking his palm in the process.

He’d sat there helplessly as she darted across the road, ran up the steps of the condo and let herself in.

•

He never should have gone back that morning, but he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t think of anything else. He didn’t want to kill her. It just got out of hand because he was so hot and angry
.
Okay, maybe he did want to kill her for a while there. But he didn’t
plan
to do that. He just wanted to make her suffer for what she did.

Her getting cut was an accident, for Christ’s sake, a stupid accident.

He would not give himself away; he would not panic and run. He couldn’t outrun a
murder
charge. They’d hunt him for the rest of his life, find him wherever he went. No, he would not do that. He had to keep acting as if nothing at all had happened.

And he was, by now, a consummate actor.

* * * * * 

Chapter 11

I
t was Friday night, and
popular Thornton Park on the east side of Lake Eola was coming alive as the dusk deepened, as it did every evening when the weather was good. The older Downtown area had been rehabilitated and was developing a whole new cachet with the opening of boutique shops and bistro-style restaurants. Julie and Joe were on their way to grab a burger at Graffiti Junktion, a new favorite.