The Adventures of a Love Investigator, 527 Naked Men & One Woman (27 page)

“You’re well rid of him. Croc could have cost you your life.”

“I wasn’t cut out for marriage. Being financially responsible for his unpredictable actions was driving me crazy. It was only a matter of time before I was slaughtered or sued.”

Kit stretched his long legs and yawned. “I don’t know how you straight people do it... live in such close quarters.”

“Remember how crazy I was that first week after the final decree? I couldn’t wait to get away from him. I flew off shedding my possessions like feathers from a molting bird. I wanted to be free of everything that smelled, tasted, or felt like Croc.”

He laughed. “Not going to make that marriage mistake again, are you?”

“Nope. I live snug in my little condo on the beach. There’s no room in my life for a man. My closet’s too small.”

“Your teeny closet gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

I took a big swallow of my Bloody Mary before I spoke. “I wonder about Croc. It’s hard to imagine his huge ego would allow him to disappear into thin air. And I can’t help wonder how that idiot talked investors into parting with their money.”

Kit fiddled with the Tabasco, spicing his drink just this side of combustion. “He talked you into marrying him.”

I cracked a big claw and dipped it in the mustard sauce. “I had an excuse. I’ll never get that tipsy again.”

“Three of my salon clients went wonkers over their investment losses last week. They collapsed into crying fits while I was doing their nails. People aren’t coping well with the financial meltdown.”

He took a slow, easy swig from his glass and then asked, “What exactly is a Ponzi scheme?”

“A scam where a crook, a big kahuna, gets investment capital from Client A by promising him fat returns – like 20% – then gets Client B the same way, using his money to pay off Client A, making it look like he’s delivering on the investment promise. Then he needs Client C, D, and E to keep the circle of payoffs and influx of new cash going... you get the picture. It’s a ‘rob Peter to pay Paul’ that never ends. At some point, that big kahuna gets caught, but not before he’s ruined the lives of many, many people.”

Kit thumped his forefinger on the table and drew 20% with the condensation from his glass. “You mean he’s using new money to pay the promised interest even though he’s not making anywhere near the 20%.”

I rubbed out his markings on the table. “Exactly, except that number’s only an example.”

“Is that what Croc was doing?”

“Croc wasn’t running a Ponzi. He was running a hedge fund, which is pretty shaky in its own right, but him being lazy, and stupid, and worthless... Sorry, I digress. I know Croc. I hope he wasn’t foolish enough to be a feeder for some big kahuna. I’ve been worried ever since that Russian stopped us.”

“Did Croc have a big kahuna?”

Skipping over his double-entendre, I said, “I don’t know and I don’t want to know. Let’s change the subject, please.”

He beamed a laser-white smile. “Well... my new show opens in two weeks.”

Kit’s career as the reigning drag queen of Miami Beach was his passion. It was unnerving to watch him prance around in full makeup. He actually made a fairly good-looking giantess.

“You definitely got my mind off finances. Let’s split one dessert. I have Treanna tonight. We’re ordering pizza and making ice cream sundaes. I’ll be a blimp before the weekend is over.

We topped off lunch with a gooey key lime pie. Satiated, I dropped Kit back at his salon.

*   *   *

My real estate company Darlin Realty was located in an old house I’d taken great pleasure in renovating. It was a deep shade of putty green, two-story with a wrap-around front porch. We never used the veranda, but it looked inviting with a white wicker loveseat and two big rocking chairs.

Linda, our receptionist, was out to lunch when I got back. I grabbed the phone on the second ring rather than letting the service get it.

“Darlin Realty. Wendy speaking.”

A raspy voice said, “This is Charlie Hook.”

I knew the name but feigned ignorance. We’d almost met the night Croc disappeared.

“How can I help you?”

“
The
Charlie Hook.” He repeated with irritation and ego flooding out of the phone. “I’m in the market for a house on Miami Beach – private, walled, ocean view. I’ll go up to thirty-mil.”

We were talking big commission dollars whether I made the sale or one of my agents did. I thought it over for a few seconds and agreed to meet him at a private hanger at Miami International in two hours. The little hairs on the back of my neck were dancing the no-no dance, but I ignored them.

A few minutes later, Marni Kimble wandered into my office as I was packing my Louis Vuitton tote. She was one of my newly licensed agents and had yet to make a sale. She’d been clinging to me as though I could wave a magic wand and
poof
, she’d sell a beachfront mini-mansion. She settled her athletic body into a chair and flipped her long, dark hair over her shoulder. She was a hottie in search of the good life.

I smiled at her. “How’s it going?”

“I’m starting to feel like I’m not cut out to sell real estate. I can’t get a decent client. New money wants to work with an agent they can identify with. Money likes to hang with money.”

“No more of your limp excuses. Your mom did well when she worked for me, and she was going through chemo during most of that time. She’s smart and independent. You have her genes. We’re going to make you into
Realtor of the Year
.”

She shot me an angry look. “I’m nothing like my mother. Cripes, who retires to Mexico?” Pulling her hair into a ponytail, she knotted it at the back of her head. “I was born to be taken care of.”

Her complaining was wearing thin. There are millions of reasons why something can’t be done, but I never let them stop me. Stepping into my mentoring mode, I said, “Grab your things. I’m on my way to meet a buyer. If he’s for real, I’ll give him to you. That’s how much confidence I have.”

She was still thanking me as we buckled up in my Jag sedan and headed for our meeting with fate.

It was easy enough to find the private hangers in Miami... They were the buildings that tried hardest to be inconspicuous. Charlie Hook timed his entrance for our arrival. He strutted from his jet as if he’d just won Best In Show. He was about six-feet tall and weighed about one-sixty. Lean and lanky, he had a thick shock of gray hair, a George Hamilton tan, and perfect white teeth that had to cost a small fortune.

First words out of his thin lips grated on me. “Gotta trade in this Gulfstream. No damn leg room.” He eyed Marni and then put his arm around me like we were old friends.

I choked down a gag and introduced him. My young agent’s doe eyes doubled in size when he invited her into his plane for a drink. I got the crazy feeling the hotshot was trying to make me jealous.

“Marni’s on a tight schedule. She’s working with a number of clients,” I lied.

Hook clenched his jaw and the pupils of his gray eyes became the size of BBs. “I want her exclusive attention or not at all.”

I’d show him who was in control. I motioned Hook to follow us. “Marni’s laptop is in my car. She can give you a virtual tour of a couple of properties.”

“I don’t do virtual. That’s for lookers. I’m a buyer.” He followed us to my Jag.

Marni grabbed her computer and jacket from the front seat. “I’ll go with Mr. Hook in his limo if he doesn’t mind.” She twisted the corners of her mouth in a suck-up smile.

Pulling her aside, I whispered in her ear, “What are you doing? Call me if he gives you any trouble.” I had an uneasy feeling.

“What about you? ‘Hook said. “My money not good enough?”

Ignoring his remark, I waved them off. “Cheers!”

*   *   *

Ten days and twenty mansions later, there were no offers from Hook. Things were going circular, and he was taking gobs of Marni’s time. She was at the front desk setting up viewing appointments when Hook slithered into my office.

“So, why did you shuffle me off to an underling?” he asked.

“Marni’s a good agent. She needs this sale.”

“And you don’t? Did your ex leave you with a secret fortune?”

“Who told you I was divorced?” My skin felt crawly.

“You’re a workaholic with one ex in your closet and no kids.”

Marni-big-mouth must have given him the skinny on me. I needed to have a serious talk with that girl about discretion.

I was used to new-rich, high fliers who thought everything came with a price tag. Hook was shopping in the wrong store if he was looking at me. I couldn’t afford to tell him exactly what I thought of him. Besides it wouldn’t have made a dent in his brain. There are some things money can’t buy; one is class.

“Are you really in the market for a house, or are you just trolling?”

Hook stood up like he’d been zapped with a cattle prod. “I don’t need to troll. I can have any woman I want.” He narrowed his snake eyes at me. “I’m taking Marni to see my yacht this afternoon. Want to play chaperone?”

I was in no rush to complicate my life again, and certainly not with another wheeler-dealer. But now I knew what Hook’s little game was, I couldn’t resist baiting him. It would be fun to taunt this predator with my unavailability and goad him into buying a property from Marni – which would bring money into Darlin Realty.

Stepping over his crass remarks like a pile of warm dog poop, I said, “I’ll be there. Where are you moored?”

“At the Million Mile Marina near Key Biscayne. Just ask for the
Predator.”

“That figures.”

He managed a half-sneer as he turned and walked away.

I called Kit. “Want to tour a super-yacht?” I wasn’t going without protection.

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Wendy and the Lost Boys
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S
unlight ricocheted off the waters of Biscayne Bay piercing my tears like painful daggers of light.

Officer Burger put his hand on my shoulder. “It’s pretty much a lost cause.”

My stupid, stupid, pointless lunch meeting with Pierre Delmonico cost me dearly. While I was trying to convince him to make an offer on a garish old beachside mansion, some low-life scum bag took off... My cell phone rang.

“Wendy?”

“Goldie’s gone,” I sobbed to Roger Jolley, my private version of Indiana Jones.

“Oh, my god. Are you okay?” The concern in his voice was comforting. “Wait... who’s Goldie?”

I sniffled. “My Jag.”

“You’re crying over a car! Were you in an accident? Did you hurt your head?”

“No I didn’t hurt my head,” I hissed. “I was in the Au Poivre Hotel meeting a buyer... a potential buyer, and a guy stole her. I handed him the keys and he drove away.”

“Why did you hand over your car keys?” Roger asked in a snarky tone.

“He was dressed like a valet and gave me a receipt. After my meeting, I looked at the ticket. It was for a dry cleaner.”

I could hear the smirk in his voice as he blathered on, completely unsympathetic, “You still want to be part of the recovery of the thirteenth Lost Boy?”

It had been almost two months since Roger and I rescued the Lost Boys from Charlie Hook. “I’ll make it worth your while when I get the reward for the complete set.”

“Weren’t you supposed to be paid for the twelve boys we found? I mean... you found?”

“The deal was for the all the Boys. My client’s withholding payment until all thirteen are safely resting in the British Museum.”

Roger’s lack of sympathy for my loss was irritating. I didn’t carry replacement value insurance on my gorgeous champagne-colored Jaguar. I hadn’t made a sale in almost a year. Money was going out, and none was coming in. The market for Miami Beach mansions was on its knees, and the few real estate agents who remained with me were praying for a sale.

And as much as I hated to admit it, Roger’s Johnny Depp eyes were on my mind and fanning some dormant embers of lust.“Okay... deal.”

I was back on the trail of the Egyptian antiquities known as the Lost Boys, the Shadows, or death icons of the infant sons of the sixth dynasty pharaoh, Kjoser. Roger and I had rescued twelve of the Lost Boys; the thirteenth was in the hands of the thief Hook hired to steal the collection for him. She kept one Lost Boy as her going away present.

“Get yourself over to London on the early morning flight out of Miami and meet with my client Benny Hannah. I’m stuck in Cairo for a few days. Benny has a hot lead on where the missing Lost Boy might be. His chauffeur will meet you at Gatwick.”

Geeze, he was so annoying. “Just what am I supposed to do?”

“Insert yourself into Hannah’s life until I get there. If someone else finds that last Lost Boy, the museum directors could force Benny to pay the reward money to a stranger. We could lose the entire finder’s fee.”

“So it was all or nothing? Why didn’t you tell me that before I risked my life on Hook’s yacht? And how, Mr. Indiana Jones, do I ‘insert’ myself?”

“Benny’s got a weakness for blondes. He’ll love you. Let him feel we’re on the trail. Just check into the Mandarin Oriental Hyde Park Hotel on Knightsbridge. I’ll find you there. We can stay at my flat after that.”

“Whoa... you have a flat in London? You never mentioned that.”

“We didn’t have a lot of time to chat when we were captives on Hook’s yacht. There’s gobs you don’t know about me.”

I hesitated, “I can’t disappear on Treanna again. I have to spend some time with her. I can be in London the day after tomorrow... Sunday.”

“Guess that’ll have to do. I’ll email you further details. In code.”

“What code? How will I know what I’m reading?”

“Circle every third word.”

“You maroon. Is that what they teach you in archaeology school? Draw a ring around every third word? Kindergarten stuff. Just send it. I’m so dead in the real estate market, nobody looks at my e-mails anymore. I wish someone would snoop ... at least I’d feel noticed.”