Swan Song (Julie O'Hara Mystery Series) (8 page)

“Where does he live?” asked Joe.

“
No
. Where was he the morning Dianna died?”

“Oh. Windsor Place. Up Apopka-Vineland Road.”

“I know where it is. She lives on Windsor Place Drive,” said Julie.

“Who does?”

“
Sabrina
. Her address was on the magazines.”

•

They went to lunch at Press 101, a wine bar in the Marketplace, and mulled over the possibility that Sabrina Nolen could be Mike Menello’s alibi. An hour later, they were walking into the Dr. Phillips Community YMCA.

“So Barry Costello never went to Dianna’s townhouse?” asked Julie.

“No. She trained here with him twice a week,” said Joe. “I don’t think there was anything going on between
them
, though. That’s him there, behind the desk.”

“Hi, Barry,” said Joe.

“Oh, hi, Mr. Garrett,” said Barry, stepping out from behind the desk.

Julie hoped her face didn’t register her shock. Barry Costello was in his early twenties. He had dark curly hair and the kind of fresh-faced, blushing good looks that make teenage girls swoon. He also had a metal leg from his left knee down, ending in a sneaker.

“This is my friend, Julie O’Hara,” said Joe. “Julie, meet Barry Costello, trainer to the Stars… at least in Dr. Phillips. No kidding! Barry’s the most popular trainer here.”

If possible, Barry blushed some more, and led them down a corridor to the right.

“Do you mind if we talk here in the gym? I’m coaching a girls’ basketball game here.” He looked at his watch, “In twenty minutes.”

“I won’t take long, Barry,” said Julie. “I know you’ve already talked to Joe. I’m just trying to get a deeper understanding about Dianna Wieland from the point of view of her friends.”

“Sure, what do you want to know?”

“Tell me anything. What was special about her? What kind of person was she?”

“Well…everybody knows she was beautiful. But she wasn’t vain. I mean, I don’t remember Dianna ever fussing like some girls do.” He looked at Joe. “You know how some girls just talk about their hair all the time?” Joe nodded, and Julie learned something new about men.

Barry continued.

“She was an art lover. She volunteered in our After School art program. Last March she helped with a trip to the Winter Park Sidewalk Art Festival and in November they took the kids to Fiesta in the Park at Lake Eola. She enjoyed the kids…said she wanted to have a daughter some day.”

Julie shot a quick look at Joe.

“Did Dianna go Downtown to Lake Eola very often, Barry?”

“No, I don’t think so…it was just for the art show.”

Barry’s eyebrows formed an upside-down V. The corners of his mouth pulled down and trembled. For a moment, Julie thought he might cry. With effort, he pulled himself together.

“She was just a good person. I know she worked hard and wanted to get ahead. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

Julie put out her right hand to shake his, and then covered it with her left.

“You’ve told us more than enough, Barry. Thank you. I’m sorry for your loss.”

The young man simply nodded.

Meanwhile, young girls and their parents were drifting into the gym.

Joe, God bless him, changed the sadness of the moment by clapping Barry on the shoulder.

“Hey, man. Good luck with the game! Is your team ready?”

“You bet!” said Barry.

As they left the gym and turned down the hallway, Julie elbowed Joe.

“You could have
told
me about his disability.”

“You said you didn’t want any ‘extra info’. You said you didn’t want to ‘prejudge’.”

“Okay, I did,” said Julie.

“He opened up more this time,” said Joe. “I didn’t know about the volunteer stuff. I guess she really liked being around the kids.”

“Do you still think Dianna killed herself over an unwanted pregnancy?”

“No. Not over that or anything else,” said Joe.

“I think she was murdered.”

* * * * * 

Chapter
13

I
t was half-past six and getting darker by the minute when Sabrina Nolen finally hit the garage door opener on her visor and pulled into her three-car garage in Windsor Place. For just a moment when the door began to rise she pictured the garage full, as it once was before her divorce. But the antique Chevy and the Camaro were no longer there, having been granted to her ex-husband, Don.

Don also ended up with half the equity in the house, but Sabrina had no complaints. Falling real estate values had made his share smaller and she had no difficulty buying him out. As for the title company, that cash cow was all hers…along with her six rental properties.

Unlike most people, Sabrina had few illusions about herself. She was minimally attractive, a little overweight and past her prime. She was also aware that her money couldn’t buy love.

But at least I don’t have to suffer old, inattentive fools.

And Mike Menello was none of those.

Sabrina parked her baby blue Jag next to Mike’s SUV, careful to leave enough space between them, since he’d already tapped her car once with his driver-side door.

“Hey, Baby, welcome home,” he said as she entered the expansive kitchen.

He was stirring a pot of tomato sauce on the stove.

Except for the lingering evidence of a once broken nose, Mike Menello had a classic Roman face and a sculpted body that women coveted and men envied. Unduly praised as a boy, at thirty he was a stud who thought the world owed him success.

He held out a wooden spoon of sauce for her to taste.

“I made you Puttanesca”, he said, “just like my mother used to make.”

Sabrina smiled, knowing the name translated to “whore’s spaghetti”.

She doubted the name fit his mother.

“Hmm…delicious.”

“Sit. I’ll get you some wine. Cab or Merlot?” he asked.

She opted for the Merlot and took a seat at a large granite table adorned with fresh flowers and candles. The sliding glass doors to the pool were opened wide and soft music was playing.

Mike had laid the table with attention to detail.

And not just the table
…

Sabrina was eight years older than Mike and virtually supporting him. Because of that, he was kissing her ass, both literally and figuratively.

For a good while as they ate, Mike talked about a deal he was on the verge of putting together, no doubt hoping for some financial support.

And then it was her turn.

“So how was
your
day?” he asked.

In retrospect, she told him about her meeting with Joe Garrett and Julie O’Hara specifically to see how he would react. No matter what she’d told the police, the truth was that Sabrina couldn’t have known whether or not Mike left and came back, or if he slept like a log beside her the whole night.

Sabrina was an insomniac who took maximum strength sleeping pills.

Her medication was so hypnotic she couldn’t remember getting up to go to the bathroom, much less if Mike was on the other side of a California King-sized bed.

Mike put down his fork and stared at her.

“What did you tell them?”

“I told them I knew you. That was all.”

Do I, Mike?

* * * * * 

Chapter 14

O
f all people, Julie O’Hara, teaming up with that private eye!

His panic was mounting by the day. How long would it take before she figured it out? Every instinct said
run
. But he knew better than that. It didn’t make sense to take off. They already questioned him and moved on. He wasn’t a suspect.

He was letting his imagination get the best of him.

Why should I give up everything, my whole life?

The cops already talked to Dianna’s family, her friends and everybody.

Nothing came of it.

No…Julie O’Hara was his only
real
problem.

* * * * * 

Chapter
15

F
or the better part of a week, the Wielands’ case had been on the back burner while Julie and Joe handled other business. For Julie, it was hard to stay focused on her clients. More and more real to her, Dianna continued to cry out for help and for justice.

At last Julie was able to clear her schedule. She called Bay Street Realty and on the spur of the moment asked Kate Winslow to lunch. They planned to meet at a restaurant in Dr. Phillips at noon. She called Joe to tell him.

“Thanks a lot for including me,” he said, clearly miffed at the “ladies only” meeting.

His pique was understandable. Julie apologized, explaining that she felt she could get more information, woman-to-woman.

He had come to agree and they planned to meet later. But now he was throwing a stumbling block in her path. He didn’t want her to talk to Kate about the pregnancy.

Julie was exasperated.

“Kate Winslow had to know about it, Joe; two women, friends who also work together? If Dianna knew she was pregnant, she would have told her,” said Julie. “Look, this pregnancy issue is important. Whether or not Dianna
knew
is a vital piece of information.”

“The
Wielands don’t want the pregnancy broadcast, Merlin. I told you they wanted to keep it under wraps. The coroner said it was so early Dianna ‘might not have known’. Frank and Betty prefer to believe that…even if we don’t.”

“Joe, let’s be real here. What I can’t believe is the way everyone’s side-stepping this critical issue! There’s no such thing as
slightly
pregnant. I have to be able to bring it up with Kate Winslow. Yes, ‘unwanted’ pregnancies can trigger depression and suicide, but in this case it may have set her up for murder! Are we going to get to the bottom of this or not?”

He sighed, “All right. I know you’re right. I didn’t make any specific promises about it. If it helps this investigation, at the end of the day they’ll forgive me.”

“Of course they will. Losing a child to suicide is the ultimate guilt-trip. If we can prove that Dianna’s death
wasn’t
self-inflicted, it will ease the pain for Frank and Betty. And, Joe, that’s what they really hired you for, isn’t it?”

•

The noontime crowd at Too Jays Deli and Bakery hummed with muted conversation. Black and white photos from an earlier place and time adorned the stucco walls, and strategically placed greenery gave everyone a bit of privacy.

Julie thumbed through the menu tempted by the wafting aromas. She had already ordered a glass of chardonnay. It was her hope that doing so would encourage Kate Winslow to do the same.

As it happened, they knew each other in passing, which was why it had been so easy to set up this lunch. Julie had been a speaker at a business seminar several months earlier which Kate Winslow had attended. A picture of Kate in Bay Street Realty’s brochure had refreshed her memory of the occasion.

Julie had taken a seat by a front window to watch for Kate and had just seen her step
out of a new Mercedes sedan. As her luncheon guest approached the hostess stand, Julie waved to catch her attention. Kate saw her and waved back, smiling. A slender blond woman in her fifties, Kate Winslow looked a good ten years younger; she exuded ease and confidence as she made her way to the table. It was easy to see how Bay Street attracted upscale clients.

“Julie, how nice to see you,” she said, as they air-kissed. “This is a lovely surprise.”

“I hope I’m not taking you away from anything important,” said Julie.

“No, no. In fact, your timing couldn’t be better! I dropped a pot and cracked the glass on my counter-top stove,” she said, laughing. “They’re installing a new one later today. I left the whole afternoon open for it, even though they won’t be there until after three. You know I only live across the street. I have a townhouse in
Venezia.”

The waitress came then, and they ordered Cobb salads and another glass of wine for Kate.

“I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Dianna, Kate. You may not know, but I live next to Lake Eola. I was running out there that morning. I confess that I didn’t make the connection between the two of you until recently. I’m so sorry.”

As if pulled upward by an invisible string, Kate’s inner brows knit together as sadness swiftly changed her expression.

“Thank you. I miss her so much, Julie. I had no idea how much I depended on her, both professionally and personally.”

Before she went any further, Julie thought it appropriate to explain her intent.

“I saw Dianna lifted from the swan boat that morning, Kate. It’s haunted me ever since. I’ve offered my services to a private investigator working for the Wielands.”