The Privileged: An Art Decco PI Mystery

By Jim Daddio

Michelle Thorne Johnston, a wealthy and well-known socialite, is found murdered in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. There is enough evidence and motive to arrest her husband, Clay. He proclaims his innocence and hires a well-publicized private investigator, Art Decco, to find the real killer. Art dives into the case and quickly uncovers several suspects. As he tries to learn who is telling the truth something else is bothering him. It appears that Clay doesn't seem too concerned. He is convinced, even if he went to trial, he never would be found guilty. He is rich and powerful and one of The Privileged.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613092521

Book preview

One

MICHELLE THORNE JOHNSTON was tired. She needed to slow down. She had been running at full speed for the past fifteen years. Michelle was one of Broward County, Florida’s top socialites. She was involved in practically all the local organizations and charities in the County. She was President of the Junior League, on the Board of the Opera Club on the Broward County Musical Theater and Chairperson for several fundraising organizations.

Michelle moved slowly around the dimly lit room. She was alone in her spacious house. She walked into the kitchen, found a bottle of Chardonnay and poured herself a glass. She opened the sliding glass door and walked out to the patio. She felt a warm breeze cascade past her face as she plopped down on a lounge chair. She kicked off her shoes and took a sip of wine. She looked up at the clear sky dotted with flickering stars. She thought how good it felt to be alone.

Michelle needed some time to be by herself. As usual, everything had been happening at a fierce pace the past few months. She couldn’t remember the last time she wasn’t at a meeting, hosting some event or giving an interview. Although she thrived on the action and attention, she had begun to realize that she had no time for herself. She had recently celebrated her forty-second birthday and, although she was in great shape and felt good, she knew her furious schedule was catching up with her. All she could think about was all her activities of late. They included a cancer fund-raising event, a walk to raise money for the fight against AIDS, and two major Debutante Balls. It meant being available every day and sometimes every night.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She thought about her daughter, Karin, a junior at the University of Florida. She was doing well. She had made the Dean’s list again and was studying hard to get ready for medical school. Michelle was very proud of her daughter’s accomplishments as a student and as a person. Although at times she wasn’t thrilled about the fact that Karin continued to play on the school’s softball team, but she had learned to deal with it. She knew Karin was attractive but showed little interest in dating or starting a long term relationship. She also showed little interest or desire to get involved in any charitable organizations that Michelle was involved in. At times her attitude had led to several heated arguments. Karin was her own person and Michelle worked hard to understand her daughter.

She thought about Clay. Her loving husband, who lately had found himself involved in a scandal that made the headlines. News that tarnished his image and in some people’s eyes brought shame to the name of Thorne. Her family name. The name her father, Robert Thorne, worked so hard to establish over the years. He had become a wealthy investor and developer who built a fortune in South Florida. The father who retired after the death of Michelle’s mother, Katherine. The father she loved and admired. The father who died of a heart attack in his sleep five years earlier. The father who left Michelle, his only child, all his wealth. The father who never approved of Clay, but accepted him into the family and his business.

Clay Johnston was as good-natured as any man could be. He was tall, thin, handsome and witty. He was a man’s man. He was just another bachelor hanging around the beach and bars in Fort Lauderdale when Michelle met him. She was immediately attracted to him, although she knew she would never stand a chance with him. She was out of college and from one of the wealthiest families in the county. Clay was a computer salesman living the wild bachelor life. She knew very little about him, but there was still an attraction. Something clicked and soon after they met they were engaged and married.

Clay proved to be a mover and shaker. He used his new environment and quickly jumped into the social scene. He moved into the family business and used his connections to his advantage. He ran for City Commissioner and won. A few years later, he was appointed Commissioner of the Broward County Port Authority, which he held for ten years. After that he was appointed Director of the Broward County Tourist Association. Michelle found him to be a loving, hard-working husband and father. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for his wife and daughter.

But then everything Clay Johnston had accomplished in his life came crashing down. He was accused of sexual harassment by a female worker. It was major news. The reports claimed everything from groping to sexual advancements. He was also accused of misusing county funds for his own use. He was fired from his position. A few weeks after the news tapered off, the truth started to surface. Clay was never charged with misusing county funds. The sexual harassment charges turned out to be from a female employee overhearing a joke with several hard core words and sexual overtones. It was a bad joke at the wrong time. It was against the harassment policy, but not as bad as the press announced. In the weeks that followed, the suit was dropped and most of the stories that were printed were called unsubstantiated rumors. Everything that was reported was untrue. Even though the media ran several corrections and retractions, it was too late. The damage had been done. Clay Johnston was a beaten man.

Michelle stuck by Clay the entire time. She knew her husband and believed that most of the stories were not true. Clay never challenged the reports. He would tell her it was beneath him to address the false accusations. He admitted telling the joke to another worker and accepted the decision of the Committee to release him from his job. He had no plans for a slander suit. And although several close lawyer friends advised him to file a lawsuit to protect his image, Clay declined. He figured he could let it ride and re-emerge later.

Michelle pulled herself up and walked back into the house. She poured herself another glass of wine, found her way to the stereo and slid in a Sinatra CD. She kept the lights low and molded into a soft leather love seat. She closed her eyes, listening to the velvet voice echo from the sound system.

Again Clay flashed across her mind. She knew he hadn’t been the same since he was let go. And although he kept his upbeat nature, she knew deep down he was devastated. He was spending all of his time at the country club sailing, and playing Hold ‘em Poker at the Seminole Indian Casino. Although she had recently appointed him President and CEO of the holding company which owned several Thorne companies, he had yet to get deeply involved. She recently had several conversations with him concerning his lack of interest in the position.

Michelle stood and walked slowly down to the boat dock. She stopped and stared at the large sailboat. She knew how much Clay loved sailing. She thought she heard a noise. She opened her eyes and raised her head slowly. She called out, Is that you, Clay?

There was no response. She listened again. For a second time, she thought she heard something. It sounded like shoes scraping across the dock. She stood silently on the dock. She heard the sound again. She was about to take a step when she saw a figure standing in front of her. She was thrown off guard. For a second she couldn’t make out who it was. Then his face appeared in the dim light.

Oh, what now?

There was no response. He stood there staring at her. She folded her arms across her chest and cocked her head. There’s isn’t anything more to talk about. What is done is done. I’ll do what I want and that’s final. And when it’s all said and done, you’ll do what I say, not what you think is best for you. End of story. Now...

She started to take a step closer when she saw an object flying at her. She didn’t have time to move. All she could feel was the object smash against her forehead. The pain instantly seared across her brain. She tumbled backward, losing her sight for a second. She tried to scream, but another blow smashed against her skull, causing her to flip over and land on the bow of the boat. She lay unconscious. Crimson blood spilled out from the gash in her head. She never felt the third blow that struck the back of her head, killing her. Michelle Thorne Johnston, the beautiful and wealthy Broward County socialite, was dead at age forty-two, beaten to death with an aluminum softball bat.

Two

The morning sun was flat out hot. Too hot for nine in the morning. Too hot for early May. Even by South Florida’s standards. I sat quietly on my balcony, facing west, sipping a cold glass of orange juice, trying to get adjusted to the bright sun behind me as it loomed low in the clear blue sky.

I knew lately I had been reflecting too much on my life and what had happened to me during the past few months. It was hard not to. I was in physical therapy from taking two rounds in my body. One in the shoulder and one that skidded my left hip as I fell to the ground. It happened while I was trying to bring down a scumbag. The media were all over me again. So what if I was hired by the Federal Government to help them find a runaway girl and at the same time help bring a low-life scumbag to his knees? So what if I got lucky and found the girl and eventually found the scumbag? So what if I took two rounds in my body? So what?

The media were having a field day reporting the story. In the past, all the attention got to me. In the past, I had been known to run away and hide when the publicity got out of hand. But now I kept asking myself questions even though I knew the answers. Why does this have to happen to me? Why was I news? CNN and Fox and everybody else who called themselves journalists wanted a piece of me. Especially since I was standing next to the President in the courtyard of the White House. Yes. The President of the United States was presenting me with a citation for going well beyond the call of duty for a civilian. That’s all the press needed to see. The private investigator with the funny name, Art Decco, was back in the news again.

I had promised myself, my dad and my new best friend, Federal Agent Kelly Cutter I wouldn’t do my normal Houdini act and disappear. I would stay and accept the notoriety that went with being a high profile private investigator.

It wasn’t the first time. It all started when I found a four-year-old who was taken by a childless husband and wife who kidnapped the boy, not for ransom, but to keep as their own. Then I tracked down a world famous teen super model, Dani Augusta, and saved her from being eliminated by her crazed father. These were the types of events that the press loved and dwelled upon when it had to do with me. I was their hero and they wouldn’t stop making me news. But when it became too much for me to handle, I retreated into my world. A world consisting of vodka and Omaha, a hi-low poker game. It all crashed down on me when my 1957 vintage Corvette was stolen and I was beaten and left for dead.

The press loved the story. I was living the life of a street person in Clearwater, Florida when Agent Cutter found me and asked me to help find a runaway teenage girl. I turned her down. Then she flashed the keys to my stolen ‘Vette, and I was back in. How the government found my car I never knew or asked. All I knew was that they believed I wouldn’t turn down the chance to get my car back. The story was well documented over and over. The down and out PI who claimed he was out of the investigating business, but changed his mind when he learned the government had found his prized possession. Stories people eat up. At least that’s what they told me.

I stepped up. I didn’t want to, but I played the game. I did the interviews and appeared on talk shows. I was the media darling, hoping every day that it wouldn’t last. Next thing I knew some Hollywood guy offered me fifty thousand for the rights to make a move of my exploits. I wasn’t thrilled, but I needed the money. I had one stipulation; they couldn’t use my real name. They agreed. The PI’s name was changed to Matt Broadway.

All this was happening while I was recuperating and going through physical therapy. I stuck to the schedule given to me by my therapist and after three weeks, I was beginning to feel better. I was able to move my shoulder in all directions without pain. I was running again. Not far. Not fast. But just enough.

I made the decision to move back to Fort Lauderdale. I moved into the same apartment building I had lived in for two years. Renting everything. Including the coffee maker. I also made the decision to see if my old company, Tender and Dover Security, Protection and Investigation Services, wanted me back. My old boss, Ben Dover, laughed when I asked him. He said he wouldn’t have to take me back because I was never gone. They even gave me a large back-pay bonus.

I took one last swig of juice and walked back into the apartment. My cell phone rang and I pressed the green button. Decco here.

Art, Mary Cassidy. How are you feeling?

Mary Cassidy was the newest member of Tender and Dover’s investigating team...the Investigating division of their security and protection company that had grown because of the publicity I brought them. Ben had asked me to train the new investigators. She was an ex-Marine officer. Fifteen years. She was bright, lean, and tough. She had a soft round face with short dark hair, bright brown eyes, and a wide smile. She looked like the girl next door but sometimes looks could be deceiving. Mary Cassidy was as serious as she needed to be. She worked out, ran and knew how to defend herself.

Hi, Mary. Feeling good. Maybe eighty-five percent.

Ready for some serious training?

Please. This is too funny. I closed my eyes and shook my head. And what am I supposed to train you on...or with...or whatever?

Come on, Art. You know. The ins and outs of investigating. Share some of those tricks to your success.

I couldn’t tell if she was pulling my chain or what. I didn’t know her very well. I had only met her briefly one time and talked to her for fifteen minutes. But I could feel a little smile in her voice.

Okay, here goes. Get assigned a case and go solve it.

Wait. This is heavy stuff. Slow down. I need to write this all down.

And most importantly. Never tell the boss what you’re doing. Even if he asks.

How about lunch today? Around one at Shooters.

Three

S o how does it feel to be famous? Mary Cassidy asked as she tossed her salad around with her fork.

Really feels great. I love it. Just love all the attention. The talk shows. The press hanging around my front door hoping to get a picture of me in my undershorts. What can I say? I eat it up.

Mary smiled and took a drink of her iced tea. She was well aware of how I felt about the press. She was just playing with me. She said, And the movie. The actor even looked like you. Well, kind of. He was much better looking.

Mary looked very attractive in a pair of tight jeans and a short-sleeve red blouse. Red was definitely her color. Her smile showed her white straight teeth and small soft lips. She wore just enough makeup to highlight her round face and large bright eyes. I guessed her to be around thirty-five, but she looked much younger. She had a way about her that made me relax. I was known to be a little off-center being around attractive women.

Ben gave me your file to review. Pretty impressive. Marine captain and all. Fifteen years. A stint in Iraq. Looks like you’re a born leader. I don’t know if you knew I was also...

She smiled and cut me off, I know. A fellow Marine. Four years. Didn’t want to re-up, I guess.

I thought about it. But I had this yearning to be a cop. My grandfather and dad were cops and I thought it would be a good transition.

She didn’t reply as she continued to eat her salad. We both ate in silence for a few minutes. She placed her fork down and said, You know, I was kind of serious when I talked to you about training me. Ben said you should spend some time with me. You know, work close with me. Teach me what you know. What you do.

I wasn’t sure how to respond. I didn’t have a handbook or training guide. I used my experience and training as a cop to work the street and interview people. I decided the best way was to ask Mary some questions and get a feel for what she wanted from me.

Tell me more about your time in the Marines and how that all came about. You know, fill me in.

This going to help?

Kind of. It’s part of the technique. Using questions to get answers. I paused for a second. Hell, I don’t know if it’s going to help.

You said you read my file.

Mary, don’t be evasive. Just go along with me...all right?

Mary laughed and tilted her head to the side. For sure she had a playful side. I could see that it was going to be hard to tell when she was serious. She reached over and touched my hand. Just foolin’ around. You’re so easy.

I smiled and shook my head. Then I felt her hand squeeze mine. I looked up at her. She had a different look. A look I had seen on a few women before. A look I would normally love. But not a co-worker. No way.

I didn’t move. After a few seconds, she released her hand and continued, I was a Navy brat. We moved around a lot. My dad was an officer. My mom left us after the third move, and me and my dad stuck together. After college at American University I was off to Quantico. Received my commission and started my four-year stint. During that time I decided to go for it. All the way. Combat first. Intelligence later. The last two years, I was at the Pentagon and that’s when I decided it was time. I loved it, but after fifteen years I decided to get into the real world.

And why the private investigation route?

Actually I had several offers. One from the Duval County Sheriff department and the other from the police force in Tampa. But then I heard about this opportunity and it sounded more exciting.

That’s not good. Most investigating work is far from exciting. There’s a lot of sitting, waiting and hoping. And talking to people. Asking tons of questions. Gaining their trust. Trying to figure out if they are telling the truth. And...

Oh, this is good. This is really good stuff.

Again I couldn’t tell if she was serious or playing with me. Jesus, Mary, you’re hard to read. You messin’ with me or what?

Her smile was wide. From ear to ear. Both. If you read my file, you would have seen I was in Intelligence. Part of that was investigating crimes inside the Corp. If I tell you more than that I’ll have to bury you.

Then you don’t need training from me.

But I do, Art. Come on, eight years as a homicide detective. Several major successes here. I need to pick your brain. Help me out here. Share some of your secrets. Ben gave me my first case. He said to share it with you. I need your help to get me started.

Tell me about the case.

Now we’re talking. Okay, okay. I could feel the enthusiasm in her voice. She continued, I’ve been assigned to find a missing or runaway thirteen-year-old black girl. She’s been missing for about two days. Mother is scared. The girl has never done this before.

What have you done so far?

I went to the girl’s house. It was in a very bad part of town. Two blocks south off Sunrise Boulevard. House was a mess. Two men were sitting on a sofa drinking and watching a ballgame on TV. Neither one seemed to care. They said the girl was just being a girl. Hanging out. I shouldn’t be worrying about her. I left and went to the Silver Diner on Broward. Mother is a waitress there. She said the men were her uncles. That’s what she claims anyway.

You believe her?

I don’t know what to think. I do know the mother was concerned enough to call our office. She told me she couldn’t take time off work to find her daughter. Said she would lose her job. She’s paying us to find her daughter. She called the police but they said to wait a few more days. You know how busy they are.

Well, let me say you’re off to a good start. Now, think. The girl is missing. Her mother’s concerned but her uncles aren’t. It sounds like she ran away rather than something happened to her. But now you have to use your brain. Think. Think about the reasons why the girl would run. And no matter how bad the reasons could be, you need to think of them all. You know, could be some kind of abuse...maybe even sexual abuse. Drugs. Prostitution. You see?

I see. Go on.

Now, think like the girl. She can’t take it anymore. She runs...maybe. Maybe she’s dead. Maybe things went too far and someone killed her. Or...

Jesus, Art, isn’t that a little harsh?

Nothing is too harsh. Sometimes you have to image what it was like. Use your instincts. That’s what drives me. So what if you’re wrong? Keep running different scenarios through your mind. Start to think like the girl. Then take the next step.

What is that?

Learn everything about her. What kind of girl is she? How does she do in school? Talk to her closest friends. Is she an athlete? And on and on.

I knew it. I knew you could deliver. And you thought this was going to be a waste of time.

Pretty standard stuff.

"I know, but when you talk it out like this, well, it makes you