Palm Beach Taboo (Charlie Crawford Palm Beach Mysteries Book 10) Read online

  Crux turned to Ott. “Well, check this out.”

  The basement was one big open area with what was clearly a state-of-the-art gym dominating two-thirds of it. It consisted of about twenty shiny silver machines for every muscle in the human body, a mat area with medicine balls, heavy jump ropes and benches, a separate area for free weights, barbells, dumbbells, and kettlebells.

  Ott shook his head. “I could live in this place… just bring me a sandwich every once in a while.”

  Crawford laughed, pointing. “A lap pool, huh?”

  “Yes,” Crux said as they approached the three-lane pool, which was separated from the gym by five fluted columns. “I use it a fair amount”—then pointing—“and the steam room and sauna over there.”

  “Can people from the other houses use this?” Ott asked.

  Crux nodded. “Yes, I don’t know if you noticed, but there’s a separate parking lot for the gym, plus an outside door. Just park, walk down the steps, and start pumping iron.”

  “You need a key, right?” Ott asked.

  “Yes, everyone in all the houses gets one.”

  “That reminds me,” Crawford said. “I asked this before, but did other congregants have keys for fourteen-fifty?”

  Crux turned to Capella. “Do you know?”

  “I think some do,” she said, “but I don’t know exactly who.”

  Crawford nodded, again not satisfied with the answer, and making a mental note to pursue it later.

  Ott was looking around, taking it all in. “This is my idea of paradise.”

  Crux chuckled. “In fact, Elysium’s another word for paradise.”

  They took the elevator up to the first floor and got out.

  “Well, thanks for the tour,” Crawford said.

  “Yeah, pretty amazing crib ya got here,” Ott said.

  Crux laughed. “Never heard it referred to as that, but glad you liked it.”

  He led them into the living room, where all the residents of the other houses had gathered. By Crawford’s quick estimate they looked to be two-thirds women and one-third men.

  “I’ll let you take it from here,” Crux said to Crawford. “I’ll just observe.”

  Crawford and Ott walked in front of a tall white marble fireplace while Crux went and sat down in another high-backed chair that was clearly his chair. Crawford noticed that his feet did not reach the floor.

  “Thank you all for coming here,” Crawford said, then identified his partner and himself.

  He expressed his condolences about the death of their fellow congregant, said they were eager to solve the Lalley homicide as quickly as possible and needed whatever information the congregants could provide in order to do so. He also assured them that everything they told him or Ott in their one-on-one interviews would remain totally confidential. He turned the floor over to Ott, who added that they were particularly interested in knowing about enemies Christian Lalley may have had. Or confrontations of any sort that they might have witnessed between Lalley and either another congregant or an outsider.

  With that, they moved to the private interviews, with Crawford talking to a female congregant in a sunroom off the living room and Ott escorting another woman to the private dining room.

  The woman who Crawford interviewed was emotional and, judging from her red eyes and smudged make-up, had been crying. It turned out she was Vega, who Simon Petrie had mentioned along with Cressida.

  He was excited about picking her brain, particularly since Petrie had mentioned she knew SOAR and its congregants inside and out.

  She was a brunette and, he guessed, in her late thirties. She was shapely and reminded him of Rose Clarke, but five inches shorter.

  “Christian was a close personal friend of mine who I’ve known for a long time,” she volunteered at the outset.

  “I’m sorry for your loss and, of course, my partner and I would like to find his killer as soon as possible.”

  “I hope you do. He was a very productive member of our congregation and will be sorely missed.”

  Crawford then asked her why Lalley had moved from 1500 North Lake Way to the house where he had been killed.

  She hesitated before answering the question. “It wasn’t his idea.”

  “Whose was it?” Crawford asked.

  “Crux’s. He had to make way for the next treasurer.”

  “Treasurer? Could you explain that, please?”

  Vega tapped the arm of her chair a few times. “I’ll try, but it’s not exactly my field of expertise. So, rumor has it that—are you ready for this—SOAR is worth over a billion dollars. That’s billion…with a B.”

  “What?” Crawford said, pretending this was the first time he heard it.

  “You promised you’d keep everything we say confidential, right?”

  “Yes, absolutely.”

  “Okay, so Christian was in charge of buying the five houses with money donated by a member—”

  “Who was that?”

  “Her name was Marie-Claire Fournier. Plus, Christian maintained the stock portfolio, but that was back in the… poor old days, when SOAR had a mere twenty million in the bank.”

  Crawford did some quick math: twenty million plus the sixty-five million that Rose told him the houses had sold for was well shy of a hundred million. Where was the other nine hundred million? Oh yes, he remembered, that had to have been before the brother and sister entered the scene.

  “Then along came”—she did the little quote thing with her fingers—“the benefactors.”

  “Benefactors? What do you mean?”

  He knew she meant the Melhados but wanted to hear it from her. He had learned long ago that it was crucial to get multiple takes, even on so-called facts.

  Vega nodded. “Well, as you can imagine, this little operation doesn’t run on love. Someone—I forget who—told me once that the real-estate taxes alone on the five houses was over six hundred thousand dollars a year.”

  Crawford nodded. “So, you’re not considered a philanthropic organization, I take it? Not tax-free?”

  “Crux tried to be recognized as one, but it failed. Matter of fact, that was one of the reasons why Christian got demoted and ended up at 1450 North Lake Way.”

  “Why? I don’t understand?”

  “Because he struck out with the IRS. Crux gave him the job to get us tax-exempt and he failed. I don’t know all the details.”

  From Elysium to ignominy. From a position of power and status to joblessness and... being stabbed to death in the middle of the night.

  “I see. You’re saying he was punished for not being able to get that done.”

  Vega nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. A major demotion. But if you ever mention anything I’ve told you to Crux, I’ll vehemently deny saying a word.”

  Crawford put his hands up. “Please, in my business you have to be discreet. So, back to the benefactors you mentioned, who are they?”

  Vega was silent for a few moments. Like she wasn’t sure she wanted to answer the question. “Does the name Melhado mean anything to you?”

  Crawford shook his head.

  “It didn’t to me either, but they’re heirs to the Getty Oil fortune. As in the Getty Museum. As in multi-billionaires. As in that poor boy who got kidnapped and had his ear cut off.”

  Crawford nodded. “I remember. So, tell me about them.”

  “Brother and sister,” Vega said. “His name is Freddie; her name is Fannie. I’d say he’s about thirty, she’s probably around thirty-three. He’s nice and friendly, she can be kind of… well, bitchy.”

  Vega was Crawford’s kind of interviewee. He could barely take notes fast enough. “And they live here? In Elysium?”

  She nodded and smiled. “Oh, you bet they do. On either side of Crux, as a matter of fact.”

  Well, isn’t that cozy? Crawford refrained from saying.

  “I don’t know if you noticed, but they were sitting next to each other in that white couch in the living room. She�
�s a tall dark-haired woman, reminds me of Morticia; he’s a nice-looking guy, wearing a red polo shirt, I think.”

  Crawford remembered them. He knew who his next interviews would be.

  Out of the sunroom window, Crawford spotted Crux in the back yard. He was walking beside a dark-haired woman. She fit the description of Fannie Melhado.

  “Let’s go back to the billion dollars. So that money came from the Melhados?”

  She nodded. “I read in the Glossy the other day that there are forty-three billionaires in Palm Beach. Did you know that?”

  Thanks to Rose Clarke, he did know. But Crawford simply shrugged. “I figured there were a lot. So now I’ve got a lot more questions. First, did the Melhados donate that money to SOAR with no strings, or how’d it work?”

  Vega sighed. “Sorry, I’m not really sure about that, not being well-versed in high finance. My understanding is that they pledged that money to the foundation. I guess, the SOAR Foundation.”

  Crawford nodded. “O-kay, but to do what with?”

  “The simple answer is to spread the precepts of SOAR. So, it becomes a bona fide religion with real credibility.”

  “Right up there with Protestants, Catholics, and Buddhists?”

  “You laugh, but Crux is a very ambitious man. Fannie Melhado, too. Woman, that is.”

  Crawford nodded. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  Vega moved closer to him. “Did you ever hear about Bethesda?”

  “The church, you mean?”

  She nodded.

  “What about it?”

  Bethesda-by-the-Sea was the oldest house of worship in Palm Beach. It was where Donald and Melania Trump tied the knot back in 2005 and Michael Jordan and his second wife were married a few years later.

  Vega leaned even closer. “Well, this is really hush-hush…”

  “Okay.”

  “Crux tried to buy it last year.”

  “Whoa-whoa… what? That’s crazy, you can’t buy a church.”

  “Tell that to Crux. He offered ‘em fifty million dollars for it.”

  “Okay. Same question as before: To do what with it?” Crawford was floored by the revelation. It seemed absolutely preposterous.

  “What do you think? To preach the gospel of SOAR, give us instant credibility and respect. He figured that would be a highly visible pulpit.”

  “Wow. Can’t argue with that,” Crawford said, still dumbstruck. “But buying Bethesda seems kind of like trying to buy… I don’t know, the Lincoln Memorial.”

  Vega shrugged. “This took place right after the Melhados joined. Word is, Fannie may have had a lot to do with it.”

  Crawford looked at his watch. He couldn’t spend the whole afternoon with Vega. Others were waiting. But the woman was a goldmine.

  “On another subject,” Crawford said. “The impression I’m getting is there’s a distinct hierarchy in SOAR. And that… how do I put it? Fourteen-fifty North Lake Way is where people who are out of favor end up. And that there’s clearly an order of the most desirable houses down to least desirable ones?”

  “Absolutely. Elysium is on top and fourteen-fifty is at the bottom.”

  “So, you must be pretty happy where you are? Here at Elysium?”

  “I guess,” Vega said with a shrug. “I mainly just like having the gym and pool in the basement. I’m not so concerned about all the politics.”

  “I get that,” Crawford said. “So, let me ask you… Marie-Claire Fournier, I’m assuming she was also in Elysium when she was alive?”

  Capella nodded. “You bet she was. But for two reasons. All the money she gave and being Crux’s long-time girlfriend. Until she was phased out.”

  “‘Phased out’… what exactly does that mean?”

  Capella laughed. “It means sex. You see, Crux had a lot of women to choose from here.”

  Crawford was surprised and it showed.

  “What did you think, people with high IQs don’t like sex or something?”

  “No, I just—”

  “’Cause we all seem so serious, is that it? So damn purposeful or something?”

  Crawford shook his head, wanting to stay on the subject of Marie-Claire Fournier. “Do you know how Marie-Claire died? What the cause might have been?”

  “A brain aneurism.”

  “And how old was she?”

  “Forty-nine.”

  “That’s pretty young for something like that. Usually happens to much older people.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “So, when she was phased out… I’m guessing, someone else was phased in.”

  “Good guess. Who do you think it was?”

  “I’m going to take a wild guess: Fannie Melhado?”

  “Bingo. Crux traded in the older, rich model for a younger, even richer one.” Vega chuckled. “Longstanding Palm Beach tradition. Been going on forever in this town.”

  There was a knock on the door and Ott walked in. He held up a hand. “Sorry, to bother you. Just got done with my interview.”

  Crawford nodded. “We were just wrapping it up here.” He put his hands on his knees to stand. “Well, thank you, Vega, I really appreciate your cooperation—”

  She smiled, shot him an eyebrow wag, a thousand-megawatt smile, and reached for a pen in her purse. “Why don’t I give you my phone number just in case you think of any other questions you might want to ask me?”

  He stood as she wrote. “I was just about to give you my card.”

  “We can trade,” she said, handing him the piece of paper she had just written her name and number on. “Even though I think you already got most of the good stuff out of me.”

  Seven

  Crawford and Ott walked toward the living room.

  “You rascal,” Ott said, under his breath. “Chick was hittin’ on you.”

  Crawford groaned. “She was just being cooperative,” he said, “the way we like ’em.”

  “Bullshit. She was hittin’ on you… the way I like ‘em.”

  Crawford rolled his eyes as they entered the living room, which was packed with people who ranged in age from early 30s to mid-50s and wore expressions from anxious to bored. Some were reading magazines, others books. Some were on their computers, others on iPhones, and a few were simply staring off into space. One of the ones deep into a faraway stare, Crawford was pretty sure, was Freddie Melhado.

  “Mr. Melhado?”

  The man turned toward Crawford. “Yes,” he said, standing up.

  “Would you follow me, please?”

  Melhado approached and they shook hands. “Freddie Melhado,” he said with a smile.

  “Detective Crawford.”

  They walked into the sunroom and sat down.

  Melhado was a tall, handsome man with a tennis-pro tan and longish hair combed straight back. He could have been a movie actor, though Crawford spotted a slight limp, which might have stunted the career of a leading man.

  “I appreciate you meeting with me,” Crawford said. “So how long have you been a congregant here?”

  “A little over a year.”

  Melhado went on to explain he used to be a real-estate agent in Palm Beach. Something he did, “Not for the money, but just something to do.” His sister, he volunteered, was an Olympic-caliber equestrian who had a thirty-two-acre horse farm with eighteen stalls in Wellington, a half-hour west of Palm Beach. He explained further—as if his biography were far less interesting than his sister’s—that she “liked horses better than people” and felt a void in her life that even her huge inheritance couldn’t fill. She was a contributor to many causes and had heard about SOAR through a fellow rider who had a friend who was a congregant. Fannie had gone for a visit and met with Crux but initially felt that he was “too slick” and resisted the leader’s overtures to join SOAR.

  Crawford was not dazzled by Freddie’s Mensa intellect, having heard at least two grammatical errors in his speech, including “her and me” on several occasions. Plus, he sprinkled ‘ya know’
into practically every other sentence.

  “I understand that one of SOAR’s requirements is that all its congregants be members of Mensa.”

  Freddie laughed. “And you weren’t picking up on that with me, is that it?”

  “No, no, I wasn’t saying that. I was just hoping you’d confirm that for me.”

  “Everyone except for me and Fannie,” Freddie said. “And I heard, ya know, Marie-Claire Fournier wasn’t Mensa either. Maybe a few others. Hell, man, I’d be lucky to crack a hundred,” he joked, referring to his IQ.

  It seemed clear that Crux was prepared to bend the rules for billionaires.

  “Did you know Christian Lalley very well?”

  “Not that well, but I liked him,” Freddie said. “It’s kind of like five fraternities here. Elysium is one, Runnymede, where Christian was, is another. The way it works is you kind of know people in your house really well, and you know ’em in the other houses, but not as well.”

  Crawford saw Crux and Fannie Melhado walk by the sunroom window again. They both looked dead serious.

  “Do you know why Lalley moved out of Elysium?” Crawford asked.

  Freddie raised his hands. “No clue.”

  “Were there… congregants he didn’t get along with? Or did you ever see him having… maybe an argument or a fight with someone?”

  Freddie shook his head. “Nah, Christian was a pussycat. At least that’s what I saw.”

  “Is there anyone, either in Elysium or one of the other houses, who you might consider… capable of violence?”

  “Oh, my God,” Melhado said, shaking his head, “are you asking me if I think someone in SOAR is a murderer?”

  Crawford didn’t respond.

  "I mean, Jesus, no. I’ve seen people get pissed off, raise their voices, stuff like that, but kill Christian… I can’t think of anyone capable of that.”

  Crawford nodded. “You don’t do real estate anymore, I take it?” he asked, making a mental note to ask Rose Clarke what she knew about Freddie.

  “Nah, not anymore. Can’t say I miss it much either.”

  Crawford had extracted some useful information from Freddie but guessed that was about all he was going to get.

  “Well, I appreciate your cooperation. Is there anyone else you can think of who might be informative? I mean, in helping me on this whole thing?”