Palm Beach Perfidious, page 5
Ott looked up from his iPhone. “So he definitely was married?”
“So it seemed at the time,” DeeDee said.
“How long ago was this?”
“Ah, eight to ten months ago, I’d say.”
“So you just had a few glasses of wine at Antonia’s, then what?”
“Then I left.”
Ott nodded thoughtfully. “So let me ask you this… have you seen or heard from either Bob Jones or Courtie since then?”
“Yup, just so happened Bob called the next day.”
Ott was not the least bit surprised.
“You had given him your number?”
“Oh, no. I don’t know how he got it. Maybe Antonia.”
Maybe? “Okay, so what did he say?”
“Asked me out for dinner at some place in Boca.”
“And?”
“I said, ‘Bob, you seemed like a very nice guy, but I don’t go out with married men.’”
“And what did he say?”
“He seemed kind of surprised but said, ‘Okay, well, if you ever change your mind, I’ll text you my number.’”
“And he did?”
She nodded.
Ott looked up. “So, do you still have it?”
“I s’pose. Somewhere in my phone.”
“Could you give it to me, please?”
“Sure, hang on a minute,” she said and reached into her rose-colored leather handbag.
“But did he ever call again? Or have you seen him since?”
DeeDee shook her head as she scrolled through her phone. “No, that’s the last I heard from him. Here you go—” and she gave him the number.
“Thanks. And what about Courtie?”
“He called, too.”
Popular girl.
“And what happened?”
“Well, that was a little different. See, he told me he had just gotten divorced and so I figured a drink or two wouldn’t hurt.”
“But he had just said before, ‘we were thinking of selling’ the house in the estate section? I mean, that sure sounds like he was referring to a wife.”
“I know. I asked him about that and he said he meant his sister. Told me they had inherited the house from their mother.”
Ott cocked his head and thought for a moment. “Okay… so did you and Courtie go out? And by that point you must have known his last name?”
“Yes, sorry, it’s Courtie Hiller, and he took me for a nice dinner up in Jupiter at a place he raved about. When we got there, and it was only okay, I figured it was a place where he knew he wouldn’t run across anyone he knew. So, I was back to thinking he was definitely married.”
“You mean, so it was like Bob Jones wanting to take you to a place in Boca, presumably so nobody from Gulfstream would see you with him?”
DeeDee nodded and smiled brightly. “You catch on quick, Detective. Guess that’s why you’re a detective.”
“Thanks. I try,” Ott said. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, where’d it go with Courtie?”
“Well, actually Detective, I do kind of mind. With all due respect, I don’t think it’s your job to ask women about their love lives. Besides, I’m not a girl who kisses and tells.”
“Okay, fair enough.” He was beginning to really like this woman. Spunky. Funny. Not to mention the obvious ten-out-of-ten looks. “But I’m still back to you paying five thousand dollars to your friend Antonia to fix you up with men, when it sounds like she was fixing you up already. For free.”
“Well, first of all, I ended up inheriting some money from my great-aunt. Some of it went to Antonia. And, let’s just say, it ended kind of abruptly with Courtie. I’m not going into details about that. Then came a long dry spell when I wasn’t working and I wasn’t dating. The thought occurred to me that even though I’m not a girl out to snag a rich man, there are a lot of rich men in Palm Beach, and some are single, and maybe some are nice. And, from what she told me, Antonia had a big ol’ Rolodex of ’em.”
Ott, nodding slowly and thoughtfully, was thinking, Yes, some of them are rich, single and nice, and some of them are rich, married and not-so-nice, but every damn one of them would love to get a woman like DeeDee in the sack with them.
EIGHT
Ott was in Crawford’s office, the two comparing notes. Ott had just told Crawford about his conversation with DeeDee Dunwoody.
“So what’s your take on the whole thing?” Crawford asked.
“I have a bunch of takes,” Ott said. “One, we’re going to have an ever-expanding cast of suspects. I mean, Antonia clearly knew a lot of men. In some cases, biblically, in some cases as guys who gave her 50K to hook ’em up, and in one case an ex-husband who saw his piece of the pie get very small. I mean—”
“Biblically, huh? Like Luther King, the limo man, and maybe Jimmy Marston, her money man—”
“—and who knows about these guys Courtie Hiller and Bob Jones. I mean look at her contacts. The woman got around.”
“That’s for sure,” Crawford said. “So what’s your take on DeeDee?”
Ott leaned back in his chair facing Crawford and put a hand on his forehead. He had spent a lot of time thinking about her since their conversation in the reception area. Too much, maybe.
“Well, that’s a damn good question. Here’s what I think: I think she might have been telling me seventy-five percent of the truth. ’Cause some of it just doesn’t add up.”
“You mean, like what the ‘twenty’ reference was all about and how she came up with five thousand bucks to give to Antonia to meet men. ’Cause I’m not sure I’m buyin’ the great-aunt thing. Are you?”
Ott nodded. “Yeah, I don’t know,” he said. “And, again, why would she have to? I mean, trust me, that’s a woman who’d have no problem meeting men, even though she’s not working and has no interest in hanging out in bars. There’re a million other ways: spend the day on Worth Avenue going to galleries, or shopping, or going to the beach. She’d have guys flocking to her.”
“But aren’t we talking about everything but the most obvious thing?”
Ott knew exactly where Crawford was going. “That guys were paying her to have sex, you mean?”
Crawford nodded.
“Like that Courtie dude,” Ott said. “And maybe Bob Jones, even though she said she never saw him again after drinks at Antonia’s.”
“Exactly. That could be part of the twenty-five percent that wasn’t true.”
“So you’re thinking we have a possible prostitution angle here?”
Crawford shrugged. “Seems like we both thought about it at different times.”
Ott was silent for a few moments, looking down at his shoe tops. “I gotta tell you something, Charlie.”
“Okay, tell me.”
More silence. Then, “I’ve been thinking about asking her out,” he said. “You know, to get more info out of her.”
Crawford laughed. “Oh, is that it? To get more info?”
Ott nodded with a straight face.
“Come on, Mort. It’s Charlie you’re talking to.”
“Okay, well then, if it goes somewhere that would be good, too.”
“But you’re mainly in it to push the case along, right?” Crawford said, with a wide smile, “To see justice prevail, is that it?”
Finally, Ott couldn’t maintain the straight face any longer and burst out laughing. “Okay, okay… busted. You’re a tough interrogator.”
Crawford reached across his desk and patted Ott’s arm. “Learned it all from you, old buddy.”
NINE
“Thanks, finally the recognition I deserve,” Ott said. His straight face was back.
“You know damn well you like this woman.”
Ott threw up his hands. “Well, maybe a little, but if she’s…”
Crawford filled in the blank. “Taking money for sex?”
“Yeah, for starters, it’s illegal, and two, I’m not real keen on dating a… prostitute. But, I mean, gotta say, she seems like one hell of a classy babe to me.”
“So what are you waiting for? Go for it.”
Ott smiled and shook his head. “I can’t believe you, the straightest guy in the world.”
“Hey, man, sometimes you gotta just follow your heart.”
“Christ, you sound like a goddamn romance novel.”
“Plus, maybe you will get some insight into who killed Antonia.”
Ott did an exaggerated nod. “Aha, there it is. That’s your real motivation. That’s why you’re giving me the green light.”
“What are you talking about? As if you need a green light from me. As you’ll recall, I’m the same guy who went out with a woman who’s doing time up in a North Carolina jail right now.”
He was referring to Lil Fonseca, a former art gallery owner and Crawford’s first girlfriend when he moved down to Florida. She had been the ringleader in an art swindle that took place right under Crawford’s nose.
“I don’t know,” Ott said. “She’s the first woman who got me fired up in a long time. Definitely because she’s good-looking, but I also dug her personality. She’s got, I dunno, pizazz… Shit, listen to me, I sound like a dopey teenager.”
“Hey, man, you’re allowed. You’ve been on the sidelines for a while. I always told you I thought you were too damn discriminating.”
“Yeah, easy for you to say, you got your pick of Dominica or Rose or God knows who else.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Crawford said. “Hey, I just have one question: is ‘fired up’ like a medical term or something?”
“Fuck off.”
Crawford laughed. “Okay, back to work. I’m thinking we split up interviews with Courtie Hiller, Bob Jones, Luther King, plus I got LV Wurfel again tomorrow morning. So how ’bout you take Hiller and Jones, I take the other two.”
“Okay, Jones and Hiller should be easy enough to track down.”
“If you can find time between dates with DeeDee.”
“Gimme a break,” Ott said. “I doubt she’ll even say yes.”
“Don’t gimme that, Mort. I’ve seen how women respond to that laidback Midwestern charm of yours.”
Ott leaned across Crawford’s desk and put up a hand for a fist bump. “Put me in, Coach. I’m ready to play.”
*****
Ott called Bob Jones and explained who he was and why he was calling: that he knew Jones was an acquaintance of Antonia von Habsburg, who, as Jones undoubtedly knew, had been murdered three days before. As Ott fully expected, Jones claimed he barely knew the woman, so Ott countered by saying, “You knew her well enough to have had drinks at her house eight or ten months back.”
That put an end to Jones’s denials, and Ott suggested he come down to Gulfstream for a visit. The panic in Jones’s voice registered right away as he responded to the suggestion. He said he planned to be up in Palm Beach later that day and would be happy to, as he said, “do my civic duty” and drop by the Palm Beach Police station.
At three o’clock sharp he showed up, and Ott introduced himself at the reception desk and led him back to his cubicle. The man was handsome and tall, but looked kind of vacuous to Ott. Maybe he thought that because somehow, he saw Jones as a potential rival.
“Appreciate you… doing your civic duty and coming in,” Ott said, trying to go light on the sarcasm.
“I’m happy to help in any way I can, but as I told you, I barely knew Antonia von Habsburg.”
“Yes, and as I said to you, you knew her well enough to have been invited to her house to have drinks,” Ott said.
“How do you even know about that?” Jones asked,
“Just part of our investigation,” Ott said obliquely. “So, just how did you know Ms. von Habsburg?”
“Well, see, Ms. von Habsburg was interested in joining a country club up in New York that I’m president of, so through a mutual friend, I volunteered to meet with her and discuss her joining.”
“Okay, and where exactly is this club?”
“East Hampton. Long Island.”
“As in… the Hamptons?”
“The very same,” Jones said and a bright smile lit up his bronzed, chiseled face. “I’m surprised you’ve heard of the Hamptons.”
“Yeah, well… So that was it, you were interviewing her to join your little club up there?”
“Pretty much.”
“Who else was there at Ms. von Habsburg’s house?”
“A friend of mine. Name’s Courtie Hiller.”
“That was it?”
Jones nodded.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
Ott’s eyes bored into his. “You either have a terrible memory, Mr. Jones, or you’re lying through your teeth,” he said. “I sure hope it’s not the latter, because I so wanted to believe you came here to do your civic duty.”
Jones did his best to look outraged at Ott’s accusation. “This was a while ago, Detective, and I don’t have a perfect memory.”
“Think hard, Mr. Jones.”
Jones nodded just once. “Maybe there was another woman there.”
“Maybe?”
“There definitely was another woman there.”
“And what was her name?”
“Oh God, I have no clue. It was almost a year ago and I had a few drinks—”
“And don’t have a perfect memory.”
“Right.”
“Mr. Jones, this is a question you don’t have to have a great memory to remember. Did you have sex with that other woman who was there?”
Jones’s whole body seemed to contort. “Are you kidding? That was the first and last I saw of her. Besides I’m a—”
“Happily married man?”
“Damn right,” Jones said, with what looked to Ott like another bad impression of deep indignation.
“What more can you tell me about Antonia von Habsburg?”
“I don’t know much of anything. I told you, I was just doing a friend a favor and interviewing her for my club. Which is exactly what I did.”
“Well, now that seems a little peculiar to me,” Ott said. “Because if you’re president of this club in the Hamptons and you interviewed her to become a member, you’d presumably find out a fair amount about her. I mean, that was the whole purpose… right?”
“Well, yes, but.…”
“But what?”
“Well. I kind of got the impression that she might be holding back. Not giving me the full picture.”
“Okay, so tell me what you did find out about her.”
“She grew up somewhere up north. Went to college up there.”
“Do you remember which one?”
“I don’t think she said.”
“Okay, then what?”
“She moved down here about fifteen, twenty years ago and started a business. A headhunter business, you know, where they get jobs for people. I got the impression that these were pretty big jobs. Like bank executives, lawyers, financial and insurance positions, stuff like that. She was married when she came down, but got divorced a while back.”
“What was the name of her company?” Ott asked. “Do you remember?”
“She never said.”
“And you never asked?”
Jones shook his head. “I was beginning to get the sense she wasn’t right for our club.”
“Why not?”
“Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but she just wasn’t really the same class as the rest of our membership.”
“What made you decide that?”
Jones pulled at his earlobe and squinted. “Well, for one thing she had this accent.”
“She grew up in New Hampshire.”
“Maybe that was it. Kind of a hick accent.”
Ott laughed. “Really? Don’t know if I’ve ever heard a ‘hick accent’ before.”
But Jones was on a roll. “Then there was the whole von Habsburg thing. I mean, where’d that come from? European royalty was the last thing that woman was.”
“That woman?”
“Antonia.”
“Yes, I knew who you were talking about. So, you didn’t let her into your club.”
“Correct, but here’s the amazing thing. A few months later I heard she got into the Poinciana.”
Ott feigned surprise. There was not a higher social mountain to climb than the Poinciana Club. “No kidding, with that hick accent and everything.”
Jones missed Ott’s sarcasm. “Yeah, she must have had some pull, ’cause even I’d have a hard time getting in there.”
“Wow, even you,” Ott said, tongue even deeper in his cheek. “How do you think she was able to swing it?”
“I don’t know, but I could hazard a guess.”
“Please do.”
“Well—” Jones suddenly glanced away. “No, I better not.”
“Come on, I need your help here.”
“Well, ”—his eyes slowly circled back to Ott’s—“the president of the Poinciana kind of has a reputation. Let’s just say, he has an eye for the single ladies. One of the men on the membership committee does, too. But, you know, that’s just a rumor. I have no idea, no first-hand knowledge whether it’s true or not.”
“Keep going.”
“Well, that’s really it.”
“I’d appreciate all the details you can give me.” It seemed Jones could go either way: clam up or open up. “Everything you know, please.”
“All right, well supposedly—this is from a guy I play golf with, who’s also a member of the Poinciana—the president has a beach cottage on the other side of North Ocean from his house,”—Jones thrummed the arm of his chair—“so they have these Friday night dances at the Poinciana in season, where the president goes around on the QT and tells a bunch of the single woman he’s having an after-party at his cottage. So, he and a couple of male friends and a bevy of single women show up and apparently, it gets pretty wild.”
“What do you mean?” Ott could only imagine. “Like spin the bottle or something?”
Jones laughed. “Almost. Apparently, they play these strip games.”
“Strip games?” Ott was… flabbergasted was the best word for it.
