Ethan pointed to a Starbucks at the edge of the parking lot. “Dixie, you need coffee.”
With his arm still around my shoulders, he guided me across the blacktop and put me at a minuscule table outside the Starbucks front door. He ducked inside, and by the time he came back with two coffees, I had got myself under control. He spilled a handful of cream and sugar containers on the table and took the other chair. For a minute or two we were busy with the coffees, and then we were stuck in one of those awkward moments when nobody can think of what to say next.
I said, “Sorry to disintegrate on you like that.”
“No problem. I’m sorry about your dog.”
“She wasn’t mine, actually. I was taking care of her.”
“I’m still sorry.”
I looked directly at him for the first time. No doubt about it, he was extraordinarily handsome, but his face wore a new look of tension.
I said, “I guess you’ve heard about the arrests at Leo Brossi’s call center.”
He huffed a mirthless laugh. “Brossi’s not the big fish. Denton Ferrelli’s the one they should be after.”
“You didn’t say that when we talked before.”
Humility obviously wasn’t Ethan Crane’s long suit. He gave me a long hard look that seemed to be contemplating whether he could get away with lying.
“I didn’t know then what I know now.”
“Now that you have new information, could you share it with me?”
I thought I did very well to keep the acid off my tongue when I said that. I guess he thought so too, because he gave me a hint of an approving grin.
25
Ethan said, “What I’ve learned is that Denton Ferrelli has a history of smelly financial deals, and he always has help from organized crime and corrupt politicians. Like he brokered around five billion a year in deposits into savings and loans all over the country. But first he got an agreement that the S and Ls would lend the money to people he named. Every one of them was somebody with the Mafia.”
My eyes got big at the word Mafia, and Ethan smiled grimly.
“Like they say on the street, Denton has connects. Not just with the mob but with a lot of politicians. Dirty money goes into a bank or a savings and loan, comes out clean through unsecured loans, and goes into the pockets of crooked politicians. Then they use their clout to help the people who bought them.”
“What about Leo Brossi?”
Ethan held up two fingers squeezed tightly together. “Denton and Brossi are close. A few years ago, Leo Brossi got a Miami bank to loan him four million dollars with nothing but his personal guarantee as security. On the day the loan was finalized, Brossi loaned the same amount to a real estate company owned by Denton Ferrelli and Wayne Black.”
“The same Senator Wayne Black who was playing golf with Denton when Conrad was killed?”
“The same, only he wasn’t a senator then. Now get this: Ferrelli and Black used the money to buy a building in Miami’s prime financial district. They never paid a dime on their loan from Brossi because their deal with him only required them to repay the loan if the cash flow from the building was sufficient to cover it. They claimed it wasn’t, so Brossi then defaulted on his four million bank loan.”
“But how—”
“Money talks, Dixie. It speaks in a very loud voice. The bank sued Leo Brossi. It also sued the Ferrelli and Black real estate company. But because of some political maneuvering, the FDIC stepped in and arranged a highly unusual settlement whereby Ferrelli and Black only had to repay half a million and Brossi didn’t have to pay anything. To sweeten the settlement, Ferrelli and Black got to keep the building.”
My brain cells were groaning from the strain of trying to follow slippery financial deals involving millions and billions. My brain was more acquainted with numbers in the hundreds.
Ethan leaned over the table. “Dixie, you shouldn’t be going around asking questions about Denton Ferrelli or Leo Brossi. Those guys play dirty, and they play for keeps. You’re nothing but an annoying insect at their picnic, and they’ll smash you without a second thought.”
“They’ve already tried to smash me.”
“Me too. Now that Stevie Ferrelli won’t be taking Conrad’s place, Denton is putting pressure on the other board members. He wants to kill the plans for the circus retirement home, and I’m fighting him. That means I might as well have a bull’s-eye painted on my back. I’m not a big name in the legal world, but Denton can make it so I won’t even get work doing simple wills.”
I was sure what he said was true, and there wasn’t a thing I could say to make it less depressing. We tossed our empties in an open trash can and ambled back to the vet’s parking lot.
As I got into the steamy Bronco, I said, “Thanks for the coffee, Ethan, and for the shoulder.”
“Anytime.”
“Next time I hope I won’t need the shoulder.”
Surprise registered in his eyes. “Me too. See you, Dixie.”
I had my engine running before he was in his car, and my heart was doing a tango. What the hell was wrong with me? Last night I’d realized I was attracted to Guidry, and now I’d just given a not-so-subtle notice to Ethan Crane that I’d like to get better acquainted.
As I pulled out of the lot, I muttered, “Get a grip, girl. Next thing you’ll start having fantasies about cucumbers and zucchini.”
Back at Mame’s house, I examined the urine-stained rug in the study and decided it had to be cleaned by professionals. I called a company and made arrangements to meet them Monday morning. I washed Mame’s food and water bowls and stacked them on a pantry shelf. I put her collar and leash on the top shelf of the hall closet. I vacuumed up russet dog hairs. I took the opened bag of organic senior kibble and a box of Jubilee Wafers to pass along to another elderly dog client. When—or if—the Powells returned, it would be to a house that showed no visible signs that Mame had ever lived there.
I locked the door behind me and headed south on Midnight Pass Road, retracing the zigzag route I’d taken earlier but this time visiting cats and birds. It was after eleven when I finished with the last cat and drove down the tree-lined drive to my apartment. Exhilarated after last night’s storm, the treetops were filled with songbirds and parakeets chirping their heads off, and every seabird in the area was drawing exuberant circles and loops in the sky.
When I came around the last bend, I saw Guidry’s car parked beside the carport. I pulled the Bronco into its slot and started toward my stairs, then detoured to the wooden deck when I saw Michael and Paco and Guidry sitting at the table. I expected them to be celebrating Paco’s success, but all three men wore strained faces. Actually, only Guidry and Paco looked strained. Michael’s face was thunderous. Something was up. The air was crackling with it, and whatever it was had made Michael mad as a stuck bull.
I gave Paco a big smile. “Good job this morning.”
He took the praise like a dog. A nod, a smile. No preening, no aw-shucks-it-was-nothing silliness.
I said, “Too bad Brossi wasn’t there when you made the bust.”
“He was supposed to be, but somebody slugged him yesterday and broke his nose. He was home with an ice bag.”
I met Guidry’s gaze and felt my face grow hot with remorse. My little escapade yesterday had allowed Leo Brossi to escape arrest this morning.
Guidry said, “He’ll be taken in, don’t worry.”
Paco gestured toward their coffee mugs. “Want some coffee?”
“No, I want food.”
Like a gladiator hearing the call to battle, Michael was instantly on his feet and headed toward the kitchen.