Cultured, page 4
“Sure,” she began. “A woman I met there—her name was—you know, I can’t remember—and we got along so well.” Her brow furrowed. “We were going to get together but apparently I forgot to call her.” She shrugged. “Life gets in the way, I guess.”
Life such as yoga classes, manicures, hair styling, watching HGTV, and shopping. Plus, making harassing phone calls to your ex and your calendar fills quickly.
“Margarita Kellerman,” Tammy said. She snapped a finger. “That’s her name. She lives over in Orange Beach. She’s a single mom and lives off a trust fund and property of some kind her husband left. She was having trouble with her kids. A boy and a girl, I think. Rebellious and angry and all that.”
Sounded like Clarice Wilkerson. Inherited money, kid problems.
“Jonathon, actually his assistant Rhea Wilson—that’s who this woman mostly worked with—showed her that she couldn’t resolve her kid conflicts until the kids themselves matured enough to behave like adults. Then these conflicts would correct themselves. The son was already away at college and the girl would be leaving the next year. So, that would fix things. You know, out of sight, out of mind.”
So, the great Jonathon Lindemann’s advice is to ignore the problem until it went away? Where was the self-help part? Not to mention this didn’t feel like sound parenting to me. Ignore your kids until you could shove them out the door and then life would be good. What could possibly blow up there?
“Rhea told Margarita that her main problems were boredom and a lack of direction. She told her that she needed to focus on herself, on something worthwhile, like growing her wealth. Margarita did and was ecstatic with the results.” Tammy shrugged. “That’s all I wanted to do. Make some money myself and not rely on Walter so much. He works too hard.”
I started to say it only appeared that way but that in reality he hid in his office to avoid her. I mean, I would. Hell, I did. Not the office but the ballpark and the Rangers’ training facility. My teammates thought I was a fitness fanatic and the hardest-working man in baseball. I actually hated working out, but I’d have eaten glass to avoid too much time with Tammy. That’s what I wanted to say, but once again, I kept my thoughts locked up.
“Is that typical?” Nicole asked. “That he helps solve problems by offering financial advice?”
Tammy considered that. “I only met a few people, but yeah, that would fit.”
Still sounded vague to me. But isn’t that always the case with these self-help types? And again, preachers. They talk in parables and superlatives and make it sound like they’re actually saying something. All the while passing the donation plate. Maybe I’m too cynical but whenever someone says they’re going to make me a better person, make me richer, or save my soul, I immediately go to what’s in it for them. I suspected that Jonathon Lindemann, like a sleight-of-hand magician, waved the shiny thing, the self-help, feel-good-about-yourself stuff, with one hand while convincing followers to fork over funds with the other.
“Does he pay for all this with his seminars?” I asked.
“Yeah. That and donations. Plus he takes a percentage of the profits people make.”
Bingo.
“How does that work?” Nicole asked.
“Once you join, Jonathon works up a personal investment strategy. He’s sort of a stock guru. Once you deposit funds into your account, he invests it. He then takes twenty percent of the profits. If there’re no profits, then there’re no fees. That’s better than what Walter does. He pays his guy regardless of the outcome.”
That exactly matched my thoughts on this subject. Which meant I agreed with Tammy. I didn’t like it and felt I must be missing something big. No way my brain and hers could ever be in sync.
The take-home lesson here is that that’s how they hook you. Paint a rosy picture of all the money you’ll rake in, the big house and the yacht you’ll own, and the fabulous trips you’ll take to the far corners of the world. All your dreams will come true if you simply fork over your cash and let them play with it.
Of course, I’m no expert in the financial world. I don’t invest. I don’t buy stocks or funds or anything. Cash and CDs only. Mainly because I don’t understand any of that other stuff. Does anyone? My take is that, like Vegas, Wall Street is run by criminals with computers.
“How can we get inside?” Nicole asked.
“You want to? Will you talk some sense into Walter? We’ll all join.” She glanced at me. “Even Jake. Though he’ll probably screw it up.”
“I’ll keep a firm hold on his leash,” Nicole said.
“Won’t do much good,” Tammy said. “I can call Rhea and set something up if you want.”
“That would be great.”
Tammy might be crazy—no might about it—but she wasn’t stupid. She looked at me, then Nicole. “Why are you interested? I mean, I know Jake’s way too cynical for this but what about you?”
“This goes no further,” Nicole said. “Okay?”
Now she had Tammy’s attention. Nothing got her going like secrets and gossip. She leaned forward. “What?”
“There’s a missing girl. Her mother hired Ray to find her.”
“She was there? On the farm?”
“Last her mother heard. That was three weeks ago.”
“Was she a member or part of the staff?” Tammy asked.
“Staff,” Nicole said. “Her mother wouldn’t let her join.”
“She sounds like Walter.”
“What does the staff do?” I asked.
“Help run the farm, the seminars, help with recruiting, entertain clients, that sort of stuff.”
“How many staff members are there?” Nicole asked.
Tammy’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know for sure but I’d guess around a couple of dozen. They’re all young and attractive, which fits with the whole vibe of TLM.”
“Do they travel?” I asked. “Go on recruiting trips?”
“I think so. Other trips too.”
“Oh? For what?”
“I’m not sure. I told you I don’t really know all that much. Maybe if Walter had let me join I could help more, plus I’d have made some money.”
Well, Jonathon Lindemann would have.
“Did you happen to meet a girl named April Wilkerson while you were there?” Nicole asked.
Tammy shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
Nicole handed her the photo of April that Pancake had given her. “What about her?”
Tammy examined the picture. Her brow furrowed before she gave a slight nod. “Maybe. I’m not sure. She looks like a lot of the staff there. But I think she and a couple of other girls were with Rhea once when I visited. For sure I never met her but I might’ve seen her.” She handed the photo back. “Is she the missing girl?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think she ran away or something?”
“We don’t know,” I said. “But her mother’s worried.”
“Maybe she’s off on a recruiting trip or something like that.”
It’s the “something like that” that’s troublesome. Young women traveling to either recruit or entertain for a con artist left me with an uncomfortable knot in my stomach. What had Ray dragged us into this time?
“The woman you met,” Nicole said. “Margarita. Do you have her phone number? We’d like to talk with her also.”
“Sure. I have it in my contacts.”
Tammy gave us the info and we left, Tammy promising to call Rhea and arrange our visit.
CHAPTER 6
“YOU THINKING WHAT I’m thinking?” I asked Nicole.
“I am.”
“Back to your place for some wild sex?”
She backed down Tammy’s drive. “That’s not what you’re thinking.”
“It’s what I’m always thinking.”
“Silver-tongued devil.”
“I am. Maybe go see Walter first.”
“But hold that other thought for later.”
She accelerated up the road. The tires of her SL550 protested as she took the curve and roared past her place. I held on. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but Nicole behind the wheel was always a thrill ride.
“He might be busy,” I said.
“He’ll see us.”
“You sound sure of yourself.”
She glanced at me while taking a turn at seventy plus. “Walter likes you.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“You and he have a common bond. Tammy.”
Bond? Maybe in a perverse way. Walter was married to her, while for me Tammy was more like gum stuck to your shoe. Something annoying that you could never completely remove and that could trip you at any minute.
“Don’t you think that alone would create animosity?” I asked.
“He seems happy with her.”
“Which makes me question his judgment, common sense, and sanity.”
“You married her,” Nicole said.
“I was young and stupid. Walter is neither.”
Nicole whipped the car off Peppermill Road and onto Beach Boulevard, Highway 182, toward Gulf Shores and Walter’s office. She slowed, checked for cross traffic, then blew through a stop sign before veering off on a two-lane shortcut. The SL ate up the road while I tried to keep all my organs in place. My stomach proved difficult. Luckily, we made it to Walter’s without tangling with a plane, train, or automobile, completing another successful flight on Air Nicole.
Constance Streelman, Walter’s receptionist, greeted us from behind her desk.
“Mister Longly. Nicole. What brings you by?”
“We need to chat with Walter for a minute.”
She glanced at her watch. “He’s with a client but should be wrapping that up about now. Then he has about fifteen minutes. Would that suffice?”
“It would,” I said. “Thanks.”
“Coffee or a soft drink?” Constance asked.
“We’re good,” Nicole said.
“Loved your movie.”
“Thanks,” Nicole said.
Nicole’s movie Murderwood had been a huge success worldwide, which included Gulf Shores.
“I mean, Kirk Ford,” Constance said. “How could it not be good. He’s so handsome.”
“Kirk is definitely that. Plus, he has box office clout. I got lucky having him as the star.”
“It was a very good thriller. I think it would’ve worked even without him. But, for sure, his face doesn’t hurt.”
Walter appeared, along with a neatly dressed woman. He nodded to us as he spoke to the woman. “I’ll have the documents ready in a couple of days. We’ll call and set up a time to get them signed.”
She thanked him and left.
“Jake and Nicole need a minute of your time,” Constance said.
“Don’t tell me you’re being sued again?” Walter asked.
Several months back I was sued by a drunk who got horsey with my staff, threatened me, and when my manager, Carla Martinez, took his car keys so he couldn’t drive, he became angry and threatening. Pancake settled him in short order with a bear hug and we stuck him in a cab, which I paid for, and held his keys until he could return sober the next day. He sued for a bunch of stuff including car theft, assault, kidnapping, and a couple of other bogus charges. Walter got the judge to toss the case.
“No,” I said. “I’ve been a good boy.”
“Not that good,” Nicole said.
Walter laughed. “Come on back.”
Walter Horton was an expensive dude. Not just his office decor and his fees, but his clothing. He wore a designer gray suit with a pale blue shirt and blue- and gray-striped tie, none of which could be found on the rack. Good thing his practice was large and his fees excessive since he needed to pay for all this, plus Tammy, who could go through money like a barracuda through a school of fish.
He glanced at his solid gold Rolex as he sat. “What can I do for you?”
“Jonathon Lindemann,” I said.
He gave me a quizzical look. Apparently not the topic he expected. “What about him?”
“We understand Tammy wanted to join his little cult but you halted that,” Nicole said.
“I did.”
“You looked into him?” I asked.
“I take it you talked to Tammy,” Walter said.
“Yes,” Nicole said. “She said you called him a scam artist or something like that.”
“I did.” He leaned back in his chair and adjusted his shirt cuffs exposing gold cuff links. “Why are you asking?”
“This stays here in this room,” I said.
“Okay. Now I am intrigued.”
“A girl who worked on his farm, retreat, whatever it is, as part of the staff has disappeared. Her mother hired Ray to find her.”
“Do you think something has happened to her?” Walter asked.
“We don’t know,” I said. “We’re just beginning to look into it.”
“Have you been to his farm? Or met him?”
“Not yet,” Nicole said. “We’re still doing background so we’ll be prepared.”
Walter nodded his approval of that approach. “I’ve never met him either. Tammy has and she’s been to that farm of his and a couple of his seminars. You might say she was enthralled. When she wanted to pony up a hundred and twenty thousand to join the group, I looked into it.”
“And?”
“I suspect you know he teaches all that touchy-feely, self-improvement crap.”
I don’t know why, given our past history, but I liked Walter. He was a no-BS kind of guy. He didn’t waste time and didn’t suffer fools. Well, except for Tammy. I guess everyone has a personal blind spot.
“Yes,” I said. “He also promotes some get-rich program.”
“From what I found, the former feeds the latter.”
“In what way?” Nicole asked.
“Are you familiar with the old poker expression that says if you can’t spot the pigeon at the table, it’s you.” He shrugged. “I think Jonathon Lindemann is adept at identifying pigeons. If you think about it, once he gets someone to post up the entry fee, he has them. Then when he dumps his investment scheme on them, they’re already hooked. I suspect he makes them feel like insiders on the gravy train.”
Well put.
“Does he make money for them?” I asked.
“From what I found, which isn’t a lot, he does okay and seems to regularly pay dividends to his investors.”
“Not all of them?”
“Not that I could find, but digging out that stuff, without a subpoena, isn’t my forte.”
That would be Pancake’s domain.
Walter continued. “Obviously these dividends are a tiny fraction of the total investment. Just enough to keep everyone happy. What happens to the principal I never found.”
“Sounds like a Ponzi scheme,” Nicole said.
“It does,” Walter said. “Like Madoff and others.”
“How’d you find all this out?” I asked.
“I have a guy at a bank in Mobile. He helps me when I need to track down financial assets. Wills, contracts, divorces, and the like. Of course, without the blessing of a judge he could only go so far. But he was able to track some of the funds and that’s what he found. How much money Lindemann actually controls and where it is, I don’t know.” Another glance at his watch. “Regardless, there were enough questions for me to say no when Tammy wanted to hook up with this guy.”
“Seems like a smart move to me,” I said.
“I don’t see how this could be related to your missing young lady,” Walter said. “Or am I missing something?”
“We don’t either,” Nicole said. “But you never know. Gurus, money, and young women can be a dangerous stew. For the women.”
CHAPTER 7
ORANGE BEACH, ALABAMA, just east of Gulf Shores and near the Florida border, was a combination of upscale and tourist-grade properties, including a row of high-rise condos along the sand. Margarita Kellerman lived on a spit of land sandwiched between Arnica Bay and Bayou St. John. Her home hung off South Bayshore Drive and faced south.
Her house, maybe the largest in the neighborhood, wasn’t modest, which was saying something. The driveway lapped a four-tiered fountain nestled among bright red and yellow flowers. Up a half a dozen steps, a massive dark oak front door stood ajar. Nicole rang the bell.
I heard footsteps, the door swung open, and a forty-ish woman with long dark hair that fell down her back in a braid greeted us.
“That didn’t take long,” she said.
As we were leaving Walter’s, Tammy texted Nicole, saying she had called Margarita and she would be happy to talk with us. Nicole called Margarita who said her morning was free, and gave us her address. It should have taken a half hour to get there, but Nicole’s driving cut that in half.
“Not much traffic,” Nicole said.
Not exactly how I remembered the trip. Maybe not stop-and-go but still thick enough. Of course, Nicole sliced and diced them so here we were. Early.
“I’m Margarita. Please come in.”
She led us into a massive living room that was modern and beach chic. I got that from some show on HGTV about folks buying beach properties. A wall of windows looked over a massive pool and beyond a long pier that ended at a sizable boathouse. Farther still were Bayou St. John and Ono Island, another well-heeled neighborhood.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” Margarita asked.
We declined and sat on a sofa, facing her across a tastefully distressed wooden coffee table.
“Thanks for speaking with us,” Nicole said.
“Tammy told me about you both. Impressive. An ex–Major League Baseball player and a big-time movie executive.”
“She might have oversold us,” I said.
“Looking at you two, I doubt it. She also said you were interested in joining TLM.”
“We’re exploring it,” Nicole said.
“It’s wonderful,” Margarita said. “Jonathon’s such a kind man. He’s smart and he makes money.”
“That’s what we hear,” I said.
“He’s helped me in many ways.”
