Swan Song (Julie O'Hara Mystery Series) (7 page)

“Look, there’s
LatZero, Joe. Let’s see what’s going on.”

Latitude Zero was an art gallery, the first to open in Thornton Park. It was a venue for multiple art forms; cartoons, photography, painting and sculpture, to name a few.

“Rats! No performance art tonight,” she said.

Julie had toiled all day in the office catching up on things, and she was longing for some diversionary entertainment. They browsed around the gallery, stopping to admire a couple of riotously colorful paintings.

“These remind me of Marc’s work,” she said wistfully. “I wonder how David’s doing with the gallery in Key West. I should call him.”

Julie’s good friend, Marc Solomon, a prominent artist, had died two years prior. His paintings of Key West were on permanent display there in the Sandpiper Gallery managed by their mutual friend, David Harris.

“David’s good. I saw him last month,” said Joe.

Julie looked at him, surprised.

“I guess I didn’t tell you. I went down to do some diving with Will Sawyer,” he said, “I just needed to get away for awhile.”

So that’s where you disappeared to.

“Let’s go eat,” said Joe, changing the subject. “I went back to the Medical Examiner, the Parks Department and the Orlando police today. I brought them up to speed on our investigation, but they didn’t have anything new for us. I did see Detective McPhee, though. I want to tell you what I found out about that contractor, Menello.”

Graffiti
Junktion, casual dining on steroids, was already crowded. An irresistible mix of sports bar and train station, its big, happy bar and picnic tables were covered with fantastic graffiti. A small, outside table opened up and they made a bee-line for it.

They ordered their favorite burgers and a double order of Chef Tom’s zucchini fries, a sinful delight masquerading as a vegetable. Julie sipped gratefully on a scotch and soda, while Joe, a recovering alcoholic, stuck with a coke. He had no idea how much she admired him for that. She would have told him, but she knew he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

“Lee Porter was right,” said Joe, leaning forward to keep their conversation as private as possible. “Mike Menello hates Bay Street Realty and particularly had it in for Dianna Wieland. The guy’s a young hotshot. His father was a contractor like mine, so he grew up in the business. He put a pitch on his father and Daddy staked him for the deposit on the three lakefront lots in Quill Creek. But, off the record, McPhee says the guy’s an asshole. He was in over his head, paid too much for everything, not just the lots. The subcontractors took him to the cleaners…no loyalty to Daddy, I guess.”

“Oh, my God,” said Julie. “He had
motive
, Joe.”

“Yeah, but he also had an alibi. A girlfriend swore that he was with her from eleven the night before until nine o’clock that morning.”

“C’mon…he could have sneaked out!”

“She lives near Disney in Windsor Place, twenty miles away from here,” said Joe. ”It’s a gated community. He could have left easy enough, but getting back in without her knowing about it would have been tough.”

“It’s not
that
tough. You just wait for a car to go in and follow behind.”

“People are going
out
in the early morning, Merlin. Not so many going in. A car hanging around like that might have a long wait. Look, you’re reaching for straws. This isn’t like you.”

Julie sighed. “I know. I feel emotionally connected to Dianna. I can’t sleep; I dream about her, Joe. I don’t know how to explain it. I feel
pressed
to find her killer. She didn’t do it. I know she didn’t.”

His hand covered hers. “Stay with me tonight, Julie. You’re going at this twenty-four-seven. Take tonight off…you’ll sleep better.”

“We’ll sleep?”

“Sure. After.”

•

Hmmm…what a difference a good night’s sleep can make.

The shower felt wonderful. Julie felt wonderful.

Mr. Wonderful was shaving.

“Should we go downstairs together and make their day?” asked Joe.

“No. I can’t stand it. They make me feel like I’m in a soap opera.”

“Whereas, you’re just in
soap
,” said Joe, pulling back the shower curtain, planting a kiss on her shoulder. “Want the razor?”

“Yes, thank you. You know what? Let’s do this…you go downstairs first and call me if the coast is clear. I have to go home to feed Sol and change my clothes, and then I’ll come back.”

“Okay. It’s early. They won’t be in yet.”

With a big grin, he took her face in his hands and kissed her for real.

“See you later,” he said and closed the curtain.

•

It almost worked.

Julie got down the stairs, out the door and on her scooter before Luz pulled into the parking lot and waved. Sheepishly, she waved back, cursing her timing. She would
not
explain anything, no matter how Luz might bring it up.

That would only feed the fire…

When she unlocked her apartment door a few minutes later, Sol was right there. The beautiful Bengal cat rubbed against her knees, relieved to see her. Julie surveyed the mess he had made entertaining himself in her absence. There wasn’t any real damage…

The cat had knocked her plastic mug stuffed with pens and pencils off her desk again. They were widely scattered over the spacious living room. Some were pushed off the oriental carpet, across the mahogany floor, as if he’d been playing with them. Julie loved her contemporary glass desk, but its clean lines only allowed for a retractable computer keyboard. At moments like this, she sorely missed a drawer in which to stash the pens and pencils. She thought about putting them high up in the bookcase.

No. It doesn’t matter. He’ll get them. He’ll knock everything down.

She sighed with resignation and threw open the French doors to let in some air and let the sleek, exotic cat out. Sol immediately tore around to the left side of the building. The large wraparound balcony housed his custom-built litter box. Only in dire emergency would the proud cat use the doggie-door she had installed nearby.

Julie picked up the scattered pens and pencils, and replaced the mug on the desk, wedging it in between the computer monitor and the modem. Then she went into her bedroom. As she changed her clothes, she thought about Joe…and Dan.

I love Joe. I do. But I don’t want to get married again.

Thoughts of her husband, Dan O’Hara, came back, filling Julie with an emptiness that knew no bottom. It was strange how, even loving Joe, she still missed Dan.

He was my first love… my forever love.

So very many years ago…Julie was only twenty when they met. It was in Boston. She had been hired as a salesperson at an automobile dealership.

Julie smiled, thinking back on that.

It really
was
a big deal, back then. There weren’t many other women selling cars.

It had been going so well until Dan showed up.

His picture could have been in the dictionary next to “chauvinist”…but it also could have been next to “Superman”. Her friend, Marc, had said Dan looked like Superman…and he
did
. He was tall and strong, and he had the same wavy dark hair…a lock of which always fell across his forehead.

Theirs had been a charged relationship from the very beginning. They started out as implacable enemies, but they were destined for the other side of the coin, and they became the most passionate of lovers.

Those were the days when people who had sex got married.

How times had changed. Still, Julie would have married Dan no matter what the mores of the time…a hundred years ago…a hundred years from now.

Daniel Patrick O’Hara had died on their honeymoon.

It happened on an idyllic Caribbean island in the
Abacos chain called Castle Cay. Julie and Dan had sunned and played and made love. They became
one
. Then half of them got caught in a deadly rip tide and the other half tried to save him…and failed.

For many years, she’d had nightmares about drowning. Joe had helped her overcome that. And he had given her the courage to love again, too. But Julie didn’t have enough courage to marry. Part of her had died with Dan. What if she married Joe and lost him? Would anything be left?

Sol came loping into the bedroom and Julie forced the introspection out of her head.

“Hello, Handsome,” she said. “It’s just you and me, buddy.”

The cat - prone to vocalizing – replied with an enthusiastic meow.

Julie laughed out loud.

In her wildest dreams she couldn’t imagine Joe living with Sol, anyway.

* * * * * 

Chapter
12

T
he weather was delightful, and Julie reluctantly locked her scooter and climbed into Joe’s Land Rover for the ride to southwest Orlando. They were headed for an area the locals referred to simply as “Dr. Phillips”. It was a name attached to a shopping area, a park, a neighborhood and a hospital, to name a few of the good doctor’s philanthropies.

They had arranged to see Barry Costello, Dianna Wieland’s personal trainer, and Sabrina Nolen of the Nolen Title Agency, which handled nearly all of Bay Street Realty’s residential closings.

Sabrina Nolen, both Dianna’s friend and a business associate, was first.

They sat in the reception area at Nolen Title in the Dr. Phillips Marketplace, waiting for Sabrina to wrap up an early closing. Joe was reading USA
Today and Julie was looking through magazines when Sabrina emerged. She was a plump blonde in her mid to late thirties. Heavy makeup did little to hide an acne-like skin problem.

She was shaking hands and congratulating a young couple who were obviously first-time home owners. They were accompanied by a young man whom Julie assumed was their agent. As they left the office the couple thanked her effusively, and Sabrina promised to be at their beck and call, should they have any questions.

“Hello, Joe,” she said, turning to them. “And you must be Julie O’Hara.”

“Yes.
Nice to meet you, Sabrina.”

“‘Merlin’, I believe! Your reputation precedes you, Julie. What an interesting profession!”

“Yes, it is that,” said Julie.

“Well, come on in. We can talk in here.”

She directed them to the end of an oval conference table with coffee and a half-empty plate of doughnuts. Sabrina helped herself to one as soon as she sat down.

“I still can’t believe Dianna’s
gone
,” she said between delicate bites. “Every once in awhile, I come across her name on a transaction and it just stops me cold.”

“You were friends as well as business associates?” asked Julie.

Sabrina momentarily looked down.

“Yes, we were,” said Sabrina. “After my divorce we became good friends. Dianna was one of those people, just fun to be around. We went out together several times.”

Past tense...a falling-out between them, even before Dianna’s death?

“She was dating Lincoln Tyler from Ocala,” said Julie. “Did you ever meet him?”

“Just the once,” she said. “Dianna got it into her head to go to the Silver Spurs Rodeo in Kissimmee, and I went with her. She seemed fascinated by Linc Tyler from the beginning. She nearly fell over the railing trying to talk to him. A few days later she went up to Ocala.”

“So you never went up there riding with her?” asked Joe.

“No,” she said, laughing. “Dianna didn’t need a girlfriend along for the ride.”

“She stopped going up there in December,” said Julie. “Did she tell you why, Sabrina?”

“Yes, she did. She said Linc was getting too serious. She said he came down and showed up at her house. For some reason, she didn’t want to go out with him around here. It didn’t really make that much sense to me. It wasn’t like Dianna was a snob or anything. Anyhow, she broke up with him the next weekend when she went to Ocala. I remember her saying that she ‘should have told him over the phone’.”

“Did he get physical with her?” asked Joe.

“That was the impression I got, but she never said so.”

“Do you know Mike
Menello, Sabrina?” asked Julie.

Sabrina immediately sat back and crossed her arms.

“Yes, I do, he’s a contractor. Why do you ask?”

“I understand there were some hard feelings between him and Bay Street Realty, specifically with Dianna,” said Julie.

“That had nothing to do with my office. We didn’t handle that,” she said, getting up. “Well, is there anything else I can help you with?” She looked at her watch. “I have folks coming in for a closing in a few minutes.”

“No. That’s fine. Thank you for seeing us,” said Julie.

Joe thanked her, too, and they left.

Julie buckled her seat belt and looked at Joe.

“Where was that Menello guy staying?”