Chapter 7
“Forbidden Fruit?” I said, guessing.
It was the premier strip club on the island. Brock Madison wouldn’t have been the first to fall under the spell of an alluring young performer. It was easy to fall in lust in a place like that and get confused. Heartbreaks and dreams.
Jack shook his head. “Rumor is she was one of Charlotte Beaumont’s girls.”
Charlotte ran an elite stable of high-end escorts.
Her girls were model gorgeous, discreet, and professional.
Charlotte had too many high-profile clients to ever worry about getting busted.
No matter what judge she might find herself in front of, she had dirt.
Powerful people weren’t going to let her go out of business anytime soon.
A simple phone call would reveal the truth.
Is it possible to find true love with an escort? Perhaps. Never say never. But when the client’s worth a billion dollars, the motivations are obvious.
Charlotte answered in that smooth, seductive voice of hers. “Well, hello, Deputy? To what do I owe the pleasure?”
I knew Charlotte from a previous case, and not in the way you’re thinking. I was smart enough to resist her offerings.
“I’m hoping you can help me sort fact from fiction.”
“Fact. It’s been too long since we’ve seen each other. You should stop by and say hello. I’m sure you can find something here to suit your fancy. Complements of the house, of course.”
I chuckled. That’s exactly how she got her hooks into everyone of note on the island. “Sounds tempting. What can you tell me about Tiffany Madison?”
Charlotte hesitated for a moment. “From what I understand, she just suffered a terrible loss.”
“You saw the news.”
“Word travels fast.”
“Was she one of your girls?”
“Now, Deputy. You know I don’t like to gossip.”
“I wouldn’t call this gossip. She either worked for you, or she didn’t.”
“Facts are subjective, aren’t they? We only experience the world through our perception. How do we know our perception isn’t flawed?”
“Cute. Did she or didn’t she?”
“You know I pride myself on discretion. I can neither confirm nor deny any business association with Tiffany Madison. If I had worked with her, I’m sure she would have been my most requested girl.”
“She has a certain allure.”
“Indeed.”
“Do you think she’s capable of murder?”
“Darling, for a billion dollars, I think anyone is capable of murder. But word around the campfire is she signed a prenup. Brock Madison may have been a fool for love, but I don’t think he was an idiot.
This is just speculation, of course, but I think he wanted to take his favorite girl off the market. ”
“Thanks for the info.”
“What info?”
“Right. It was nice talking to you.”
“You should make a habit of it.”
I chuckled again. “I just might.”
I said goodbye and ended the call. Charlotte never gave up.
“Looks like you were right,” I said to Jack.
He grinned.
At the station, we filled out after-action reports, then re-interviewed Tiffany. She’d been sitting in the tiny interrogation room for a while, free to leave at any time. Still, the situation can be intimidating.
Her story didn’t change. Not one iota.
It was a little after midnight by the time we wrapped up the interview.
Tiffany's eyes and nose were red and puffy from crying.
She sobbed off and on throughout the whole thing and had gone through half a box of tissues.
"I don't think I can go back and stay in that house tonight. I just don't feel safe.”
"You might want to look into getting a hotel room for the night," I suggested.
"You think you'll be able to find out who did this?”
"We’re pretty good at what we do. It's amazing what modern forensics can uncover.”
She nodded. "Is that everything? Can I go now?”
"Sure. We may have more questions for you. If you do decide to stay in a hotel, just keep in touch and let me know where I can find you.”
"I'll call you tomorrow after I've had a chance to talk to the attorney. I’ll get you a copy of the will and the prenuptial agreement. Like I said, I want to be fully transparent. If there's anything I can do to assist your investigation, let me know.”
"We appreciate your cooperation,” I said. "Do you need a ride home?”
She exhaled a breath. "You know, I don't really feel comfortable going back there. If you could send a deputy with me while I pack some things, I'd appreciate it.”
"We can accompany you."
We pushed away from the table and escorted her to the door. I knocked, and a guard buzzed us out.
Daniels joined us in the hallway. “Thanks again for coming in. Once again, we’re sorry for your loss.”
“Please do everything you can to find my husband’s killer,” she said in a desperate voice.
“Count on it,“ the sheriff replied.
“I’ll run her home,“ Jack said. “Want me to come back and pick you up?”
I shook my head. “I’ll catch a ride.”
He escorted Tiffany down the hall.
The sheriff and I watched them go.
“What do you make of this?” he asked.
I shrugged. "Let's check credit card records and see if she's bought any pruning shears recently. We already know her fingerprints are going to be all over them.”
"Those shears look brand new. They were recently purchased. Given the situation, I think that's probable cause to pull bank records. But I know you have methods and sources.”
"I'll see what I can figure out while you work on going through legitimate means."
The sheriff nodded. "I'll give you a ride home."
We left the station, and I texted Isabella and asked her to dig into Tiffany Madison—her phone calls, texts, bank transactions, and credit card receipts.
I wanted to know if she was having an affair.
Perhaps she paid someone to do the dirty deed.
I didn't think she'd be stupid enough to go to a hardware store and buy pruning shears on a credit card and stab her husband with them, but people had done dumber things.
We chilled on the drive and kicked around theories.
The sheriff pulled into the parking lot at Diver Down and dropped me off by the dock. I told him I'd be in touch in the morning and hopped out of the squad car.
As I ambled down the dock toward the Avventura, my phone buzzed with a call from Flynn McQueen. I figured he was in LA and three hours behind. Then again, Flynn never did have a sense of time. It wouldn't be unusual for him to call at 4:00 AM with some kind of cockamamie idea.
McQueen lived in his own world, as most movie stars do. A bubble of unreality. Though lately, his movie star career was in the tank. He'd been looking for a way to revive it. He was just one hit away from a comeback, as he liked to say.
"Tyson Wild. How the hell are you?" he asked in that laconic voice with unmistakable Texas charm.
"I’m fantastic, Flynn. How are you?”
"You know, I'm just riding the wave, going with the flow, letting the Universe be my mojo.” It was a line from the independent film that made him famous and became his catchphrase.
People loved Flynn, despite his failings and indiscretions. Everywhere he went, people would smile and give him the thumbs up and repeat the quote back to him. For them, he was that character. He would always be that character.
“You are not going to believe what I’ve got cooking,“ he said, with a smile in his voice.
“Lay it on me, Flynn,” I said, knowing it would likely be outrageous.