Marathon Nightmare

By Meredith Rae Morgan

Bev ("After the Fire") Deller is back with a new mystery to solve, and, potentially, a new man in her life and a new job, too. This time she's assigned to investigate a suspicious fire in a cheap motel in Marathon, Florida, where everyone appears to be hiding secrets and no one tells the whole truth about anything.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Meredith Rae Morgan
• Release date: Jan 15, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458163516

Meredith Rae Morgan

Meredith Morgan is a pseudonym, my professional and online identity. I write novels for and about strong women and self-publish them as eBooks on Smashwords.I was raised in the Midwest but have roots in the Deep South. I have lived in Florida for the past fifteen years. I tend to alternate the settings for my stories between all three places. From that experience, I've discovered that I love Southern women, Midwestern men and I'm fascinated (in a weird and scary kind of way) by the people I've encountered in Florida, most of whom are from other places.Besides writing, my passions are walking the beach, reading and cooking. For a more detailed bio, see my website.A Note from MeredithTo those of you who have taken the time to send emails and/or write reviews: Thank you so very much! I truly appreciate your feedback.Meredith

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MARATHON NIGHTMARE

by

Meredith Rae Morgan

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Meredith Morgan

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter 1

The plane bounced once and then screeched to a halt at the gate of the dinky airport in Marathon, Florida. Exiting the plane, Bev Deller paused on the top step to smile at the the sun blazing from a turquoise sky with not even a hint of a cloud. She had not seen the sun in weeks of cloudy, chilly Ohio weather. Bev had been to Florida before, but always in the summertime when it was hot, humid and miserable. She had never understood the attraction of Florida until that November day.

Bev shook off the temptation to go find a beach chair and a trashy novel, reminding herself that she was not on vacation. She picked up her rental car and asked for directions to her hotel. The rental agent gave her a map of the island that looked like a restaurant place mat. He drew a line from the airport to her hotel, which was a straight line with one left turn. She looked at the map and discovered that Marathon Key was only a few miles long, very narrow and had only one main road, the Overseas Highway, which ran from the mainland of Florida to Key West. She pulled into the hotel parking lot less than ten minutes later. Seven of those minutes had been spent at interminable traffic lights.

The desk clerk checked her in while she reviewed the phone messages that had stacked up in her voice mail while she was in the air. She dropped her suitcase in her room, but didn't take time to unpack it, shuffling the messages, putting them in the order that she would return the calls. Her first call was to Ben Tucker, her expert fire investigator. He picked up on the second ring and asked how long it would take her to get to the fire scene. She looked at her map and said, Where is the hotel that burned?

He gave her the address, telling her that the fire scene was on the north side of the Overseas Highway. She looked at the map and found that she was only about three blocks away. She decided to hoof it, telling Ben she'd be there in a few minutes.

Next she called her daughter to let Emily know she'd arrived safely. Emily asked what the weather was like. Bev responded, Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to. What's it like in Ohio?

Emily laughed, Well, the good news is they've already canceled school for tomorrow due to the expected ice.

Perhaps we should consider having you come here for Thanksgiving.

You won't have to ask me twice about that. You want me to book a ticket?

Not yet. Let me see how things go here over the next couple of weeks.

Bev was power-walking up the sidewalk by the time they finished their conversation, relishing the warm salty air. She couldn't see the ocean, but she could smell it. She smiled to herself. There sure as heck were worse places to have to investigate a suspicious fire!

Her next call was to Peter Dietz, the head of the fraud unit at Midwestern Casualty Insurance Company. She was on loan to his department for this investigation. Pete picked up the phone on the first ring and asked her if she was on the scene yet. She explained that she would be meeting Ben Tucker at the hotel in a few minutes. She asked if Dietz had received the preliminary report from the fire department. He told her it had come in shortly after she left the airport in Cincinnati.

He said, It doesn't look good. The investigator believes the fire was intentionally set, and offered the opinion that it was a very professional job. The only injury was minor smoke inhalation on the part of a maid who was cleaning in one of the rooms. There were no registered guests. I'm thinking this one should be simple.

Bev made a face and shook her head, Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We have a fire with suspicious origin. We don't know who set the fire or why. I have to say that the fact there were no registered guests at the hotel sets off alarm bells for me. Was the hotel in financial trouble?

"More than likely, but that might not be a particular problem. The hotel was purchased a couple of years ago by a guy named Victor Diaz. He does a lot of things, but basically he appears to be in the restaurant and nightclub business. He bought the hotel for the purpose of tearing it down and building a nightclub. The City of Marathon denied his application stating that they don't want Marathon to turn into the kind of place Key West has become.

Since the city commission refused his application to build a club, he has operated the hotel only half-heartedly while pursuing a fight for his rights to do she pleases with his property. He's got piles of money. It seems to me that the Simply Paradise hotel provides a tax write-off for him during his battles with the city over tearing it down.

Bev reached the corner and could see the fire scene across the street. She told Pete she'd call him back later. She pushed the button for the walk light and called Tucker to let him know she'd be there in a minute. Can we get inside the building?

Yeah. Local fire department and cops are being cooperative, so far, anyway. They know they've got arson on their hands, and they're deferring somewhat to us to corroborate that and to let them know what to do next. As usual, they're going to let us tote the load on the investigation, so your company can pay for my services and save the fire department money.

Okay. I'll be there as soon as this light changes.

He laughed. I'll go get lunch. You won't believe how long the lights are here. I guess they like to keep the main drag moving, but it's a nightmare to try to cross the street from north to south.

After what seemed like an eternity to Bev, the light finally changed. She joined Tucker and the local fire investigator in front of the shell of the former Simply Paradise hotel. Tucker introduced her to the chief and a few of the cops who were milling around. She asked for a full briefing. Tucker rattled off the information they knew and added a longer list of things they were investigating. Basically, what they knew was that the hotel had been a dump, that it had been losing money for years, and it had been torched using a sophisticated combination of accelerants in various places throughout the building. Tucker believed it was a professional job.

Insured could afford to hire someone?

Yep. Insured's loaded as far as we can tell. The cops think this is a simple case of the insured torching the hotel because the city wouldn't let him tear it down.

Bev laughed. That's actually a really good theory, under the circumstances. When was the last time the preliminary theory in a fire investigation turned out to be right?

Tucker chuckled and said, Oh, I don't know. Like ... never.

What do you think?

I think that explanation is among an array of possibilities, but it's too neat and it almost raises more questions than it answers. I don't have a theory yet. I want to talk to the insured first.

You haven't interviewed the insured yet?

Nobody can find him.

What?

He's not at home in Key Biscayne. He's not checked into any of his usual getaways in the Islands. Nobody seems to know where he is.

Has he at least checked in with the fire department?

Nope. That's the main reason the local fire investigators think he's behind it.

It could be guilt, but it could be lack of interest. I'm told this guy owns a lot of properties.

Yeah. He owns restaurants and nightclubs in Florida, Mexico, Jamaica, the Virgin Islands and Aruba.

I suppose that his behavior could be a sign of guilt. Strikes me more as utter lack of interest in a crummy property in Marathon that was not turning a profit and not likely to fit into his core line of business. Maybe this hotel is such a small part of his holdings, he doesn't care.

That's kind of my line of thinking.

They walked around the building. Like many Florida motels built in the fifties and sixties, the office was detached from the motel itself, and had not been damaged. Bev scrunched her eyebrows together, and muttered, That seems odd. You'd think the person who torched the place would have burned the office, too. That's where the records are that I'm assuming would incriminate the owner because the place was obviously a money pit.

You are correct on both counts. All the records are intact and they demonstrate that the hotel was hemorrhaging money. In fact, it had never made a profit in even one quarter during the four years Victor Diaz owned the place. He did absolutely nothing to rectify the situation. And, it's not as though he was a bad businessman. On the contrary, his restaurants are goldmines. In all his other operations he runs a really tight ship.

This place was a tax write-off?

I think we should get a forensic accountant to look at his business operations, but that would be my guess. I think he figured that if the city of Marathon wouldn't let him open a nightclub, which is the kind of business he knows best and runs well, he'd use the hotel as a tax write-off for a while. Based on what I've been able to learn about him from some brief Internet searches, he probably needs the deduction.

Is there any indication Mr. Diaz is into anything other than restaurants and nightclubs. Like, maybe, something illegal?

I think that will be your department, but I'd be surprised if there weren't a shady side to his operations. Restaurants and nightclubs are often fronts for other business operations, including illegal ones. Diaz is very rich and he runs an operation that caters to the kind of people who might be interested in gambling, drugs, prostitution or Lord knows what.

Bev's phone beeped. She glanced at the screen and then answered on the second ring. Hey, there. What good news do you have for me today? Has the boss decided that I've been working too hard and I should come home now?

Her assistant laughed and said, Nope, he thinks you're such a pain in the ass, he likes to keep you as far away from the office as possible. Which isn't hard today. The ice storm has shut down the city. I'm working from home. If you need me, call my cell.

Okay. What's up?

I was calling to let you know I just emailed you a copy of the policy on the hotel. It looks weird to me. The way the manager, who reported the loss, described the property, it sounds like a kind of typical crummy motel in the Middle Keys that shouldn't be worth more than a couple of million mainly on account of the land. According to the policy, the Simply Paradise was insured for $25 million. That struck me as odd.

I don't know what it looked like before it burned, but judging from the size of the building and the seediness of the office that did not burn, I'd say that's probably in the vicinity of $23 million more than I'd expect this property to be worth. Perhaps I should pay a call on the agent. Who is it?

Guy from Miami. I called his office this morning because our file doesn't include a copy of the original signed application. I asked the agent for a copy of their file, including especially the app.

Bev laughed, How cooperative was he?

Oh I didn't talk to him. The account manager told me he's in New Zeland on a boondoggle from one of the national insurance companies. She made it a point to tell me he's a big shot producer for several national carriers and is way too important to actually come into his office on a Monday.

What does our file show?

Well, there's an application that is signed by the agent. There is no indication the agent ever saw the property or ordered an inspection.

Bev pursed her lips and shook her head, So how come a big dog kind of producer who works with national carriers placed this policy with Midwestern Indemnity? Does he do much business with us?

Not much. He's been appointed with us for about five years. It looks to me as though he places his really crappy properties with us.

Bev laughed, Oh, I'm guessing that since profit sharing bonuses are based in part on loss history, he puts his good properties with the companies that offer bonuses, and parks the shit on our books.

That's what it looks like to me. He has about fifty policies with us, most of them rental houses in crummy neighborhoods in south Florida, few seedy motels and a bunch of mom and pop businesses in pretty bad areas. He seems to be the agent for a lot of slum lords.

Who the hell is the marketing guy who signed up this agent? And what underwriter is approving these accounts? Remind me to talk to someone in underwriting when I get back. We don't need business like this on our books. I like this guy less every time you open your mouth.

I've sent you his contact information so you can call him and make friends. The current marketer here is Stan Bostwick; he's new and I don't know him. The underwriter is Felicia Rodriguez. I asked her what she was up to with this. She said he's a big agent in South Florida and she thought maybe if she took some small stuff from him he might be willing to move some of his good stuff.

Bev sputtered, What the hell do you suppose she was she smoking when she came up with that theory? I know times are bad in the insurance industry, but that's ridiculous.

When you get home are you going to go introduce yourself to Ms. Rodriguez? I'm sure she'll love having a visit from you. Everyone in the underwriting department just loves you, and of course I know the feeling is mutual.

Cut the sarcasm. No. I am not going to but into the business of the underwriting department. I've gotten in too much trouble for that in the past. I will, however, share my opinion with anyone who might ask.

Yeah, like they want your opinion! In any case, I emailed the stuff to you. Let me know if you need anything else. Do not tell me what the weather is like down there.

Bev clicked off and rejoined Tucker. Then she looked at her watch. I missed lunch. The five and a half tiny pretzels they generously served me on the plane have worn off. Let's go grab a bite. Where are you staying?

Same place as you. There's a greasy spoon on the corner that served me the best breakfast I've had in a while. Waitress told me they were making a seafood chowder for lunch that is supposedly great.

Let's go!

They walked into the diner, which had approximately ten tables, only one of which was occupied. The waitress greeted Tucker as though he were a regular and showed them to a table. Tucker asked if they had any of the fish chowder left. She shook her head, Sorry. You gotta get here early to get chowder. Cook only makes one pot. Every week. On Monday. Carry out orders alone clean us out by noon.

Bev smiled, I'm guessing pretty much everything on the menu is good.

The waitress wrinkled her nose and said, Some things are better than others. You like fish?

Love it.

How about a grilled fish sandwich with a side of the best Cole slaw you'll ever taste?

Make the fish blackened.

The waitress winked and said, Even better.

She looked at Ben Tucker and said, You look like a burger and fries kind of guy.

I am when I'm traveling, and my wife isn't here to nag me about the fat content.

The waitress looked confused. She looked from Bev to Tucker. Bev explained that they worked for the company that insured the hotel that burned. The waitress nodded, and finished taking the order with no further questions. The food was fabulous and so reasonable it fell into the category of downright cheap. Bev remarked that for once in her life she expected her boss wouldn't bitch about her meal charges on her expense account. Tucker tasted the burger and said that he'd be happy to eat there three times a day for as long as they were in town.

Tucker took out his list of things requiring further investigation. They divided it up between them. Then they walked the three blocks to the hotel where they were staying. Bev unpacked her suitcase and set her laptop on the the table by the window. She called the insurance agency in Miami to request an appointment with the agent who sold the policy. The receptionist told her that Mr. Ochorios was out of the country. Bev asked who had actually dealt with Victor Diaz and how much business he had placed through the agency. The receptionist said, I'll transfer you to Maria-Elena Hernandez, she's the customer service rep for Mr. Diaz's account.

A few moments later, a pleasant sounding woman came on the line and asked how she could be of service. Bev introduced herself and said she wanted to discuss the Diaz account and specifically the hotel that burned. The woman said, I hope you don't mind, but I'd like to verify that you are the investigator for the insurance company. We often get calls regarding our high net worth customers which are from people who are trying to get information they're not entitled to receive.

I'm not in the least offended. We can do it one of two ways. I'll make an appointment to come to Miami tomorrow to sit down and chat. I'll show you my ID. The other option is I can give you the main number at the company's headquarters in Ohio. They'll put you through to my assistant who will tell you that I'm in Florida on a fire investigation. Actually, let's do both of those things.

The woman paused for a long time and finally said, Okay. I'd prefer to talk to Mr. Ochorios before providing you with information from our files, but if you're the claims adjuster, I know I need to cooperate.

Bev gave her the main number at the company's office in Dayton, Ohio. Then they confirmed an appointment for the next day at 10:30 AM.

After that, Bev went for a walk. She was amazed by all the old people riding bikes, walking, running and even roller- blading on the wide sidewalks and bike trails that were everywhere on the island. The temperature was in the mid-seventies, and a light breeze, humid and salty, blew in from the Atlantic. Bev found herself daydreaming about how much fun it would be to have Emily join her for Thanksgiving.

She passed a bike rental shop and noticed a sign offering weekly rentals for $75.00. She knew she would be in Marathon for at least a week and she loved exploring new places by bike. She paid the rental fee and the deposit. The clerk looked at the clock and said, You've got just about enough time to ride to the end of the island, there's a part of the old Seven Mile bridge that they left standing. It juts out over the ocean for a couple of miles. It's a very easy ride from here. The sunsets from the bridge are amazing. Sunrises, too, if you're an early-bird.

Bev thanked the guy and rode off, heading west. The bike wasn't as nice as her cross-country bicycle at home, but it would be fine for short trips, and all trips on Marathon would be short. She arrived at the end of the bridge a few minutes before sunset and stopped to watch the show. As soon as the sun passed the horizon she hurried back toward her hotel before it got completely dark, but then realized that the bike trail, which ran along the highway, was very well lighted, and still busy with bike traffic, as well as walkers and runners. She needn't worry about being caught out alone at night, at least not on the main road. By the time she reached the cross street to her hotel, it was dark and the side street was not well lighted. She rode down the middle of the street to her hotel, and took the bike inside the room with her rather than mess with the bike chain in the dark.

She'd had a long day, so she went to bed early. She set the alarm for 5:30 AM, intending to ride out to the bridge and watch the sunrise before heading for Miami.

Chapter 2

The glorious sunsets in the Keys are justly famous, to the extent that Key West has turned sunset into an excuse for a daily party (as if the citizens of the Conch Republic needed an excuse to party), as well as a tourist attraction. Bev preferred sunrises. She found sunrises as beautiful as sunsets. More importantly, for Bev every sunrise offer a promise that never failed to lift her spirits and inspire her to face the new day with hope for some kind of new adventure. She watched the sun come up in the presence of a dozen or so other early-birds. Then she peddled back to her hotel, showered and pointed her rental car northeast toward Miami.

She arrived earlier than she expected and drove around for a while, sightseeing and looking for places she had seen on TV. She drove out to the peninsula, crossing the causeway by the cruise terminals, which came out at South Beach. From there, she headed north up Collins Avenue for a while before looping back to make her appointment. It was too early in the morning for the beach residents to be up and about, so Miami Beach felt deserted. To Bev's eye, it was a chilling sight: block after block of high-rise condos and hotels on one side of the street, seedy restaurants and shops on the other, and no people other than a few homeless people checking out garbage cans. It reminded her of the opening scene of a horror movie.

Worse, she was only a hundred yards or so from the ocean but she didn't even catch a glimpse of it on the entire drive.

It took her no time at all to decide that Miami was not her cup of tea. She grew more certain of that when she got lost on the way back to Coconut Grove and ended up in a neighborhood of burned out and abandoned buildings that she thought must resemble downtown Baghdad.

Eventually she found her way out of the war zone and located the Ochorios Insurance Agency. The receptionist ushered her into a conference room, offered coffee and told her that Ms. Hernandez would be with her shortly. Bev noticed that, while the receptionist answered the phone in English, after