Kathy Hogan Trocheck - Truman Kicklighter 01 - Lickety-Split (33 page)

“Our office issued warrants for Newby’s arrest this morning, but when we arrived at the church offices, they had been cleaned out,” Crist said. “We subsequently learned he may have flown to the Cayman Islands late yesterday. The FBI and the IRS have been alerted about his disappearance. Our investigation continues, and we will not rest until we bring this charlatan to justice.”

Crist said that Newby, a charismatic figure who started similar ventures in Texas and Arizona, is also wanted for questioning by authorities in those states. He said authorities in New Mexico have reopened an investigation into the 1992 death of an 87-year-old Scottsdale woman who legally adopted Newby and made him her sole heir shortly before her death. Newby inherited nearly a million in cash and real estate upon the woman’s death.

Crist said his office was alerted to Newby’s activities by a local attorney representing a wealthy St. Petersburg woman who had arranged to sign over the bulk of her share of a large family estate in return for ownership of a penthouse condominium.

Although Newby apparently escaped arrest, Crist said authorities have arrested Newby’s alleged accomplice, 39-year-old Corinne E. “Cookie” Jeffcote, of St. Petersburg Beach. The woman, who was Newby’s second in command, was apprehended after attempting to flee to Grand Cayman. Jeffcote was detained by airline personnel at Tampa International Airport after boarding a Cayman Airways jet. When a flight attendant accidentally jarred the wig she was wearing, Miss Jeffcote became agitated and physically assaulted flight personnel.

Police responding to reports of an altercation at the airport discovered $30,000 in cash, a gram of cocaine, and documents outlining the real estate scheme in Jeffcote’s bag.

She is being held without bond in the Pinellas County jail, charged with mail fraud, racketeering, income tax evasion, possession of a controlled substance, and aggravated assault. Crist said Jeffcote will also be questioned about the disappearance of a Tampa man, Michael J. Streck, 37, a reputed organized-crime figure whose family has not seen him since last week. He said his office received an anonymous phone call tipping police to Jeffcote’s involvement with Streck.

It was hot in the card room. A fan whirred languidly overhead, stirring the warm, humid air only slightly. Ollie Zorn finished reading the story in the St. Petersburg Times and set his beer bottle on top of the folded newspaper.

Their voices echoed in the nearly empty hotel. The snowbirds had flown back north.

“You mind?” Truman asked, moving the wet beer bottle off the paper. “That’s my first byline. I need it for my clip file.”

“Special correspondent, huh?” Ollie dealt the cards, slapping them against the tabletop one by one. His shirt was unbuttoned, exposing his round, hairless belly. “What’s that mean, special correspondent?”

“It means he’s special, that’s what,” Jackleen retorted, sipping her tea. “Means those fools figured you don’t put a prize specimen out to pasture.”

“It means I’m a stringer,” Truman said, sliding the cards off the table, rearranging them to his liking. “Get paid by the piece. Seventy-five dollars. Plus a byline, plus gas money and tolls, but no meal money.”

“Not bad,” Ollie admitted.

Jackleen picked up a card from the deck, considered, then discarded it. “Ask Mr. K who sicced the cops on Newby and Cookie in the first place?”

“Okay,” Ollie said. “I’m asking.”

She jumped back in before Truman had a chance to answer. “You know those Boyntons, the rich ones, run all the banks and all that? Mr. K called the Boyntons’ lawyers on those church folks, told ‘em Miss Jeannette Boynton was fixin’ to give away the farm. That’s what stopped ‘em.”

Truman picked up the card Jackie put down. He smiled. Threw a card down from his hand.

“Just some discreet questions, that’s all. Good heads-up reporting. Nothing I haven’t done a thousand times before.”

Ollie’s hand hovered over the deck and then the discard pile, his face a study in indecision.

“Take one or the other,” Truman said. “We’re not getting any younger here.”

“You get a notice from the Mandelbaums?” Ollie asked.

“About the rent increase?” Truman snapped. “Hell of a thing, after all they put us through.”

“You ask me, new carpet and paint and half-new wiring don’t mean they can get away with another fifteen dollars a month,” Ollie said. “You’re a reporter, TK, why don’t you write an expose? Or hey, I could call the TV station again.”

“That’s not how it works,” Truman said.

“‘Course, I guess you can afford it,” Ollie said slyly. “Way I hear it, you got a nice little nest egg stashed away, account of you used that computer program that dead girl came up with.”

Jackie stared intently at her cards. Truman’s face flushed red.

“Had a nest egg,” Jackie said quietly. “Had. All gone now. Good thing you got that newspaper job, Mr. K, even if it is only now and again.”

“What happened?” Ollie asked.

Truman picked a card off the top of the deck and pursed his lips. “No harm in talking about it now, I guess. As long as it doesn’t leave this room. It was a sure thing. Marian, this woman who works out at the track, she helped us win all the money that first time. Went back out there the next week, after everything with Chip quieted down. She gave us a tip. A sure thing. Twenty-to-one odds. It was a big black dog. Name was Lickety-Split. We’d have won too.”

“Except Lickety-Split got bumped a mile coming down the home stretch,” Jackie said. “Lickety-Splat, that’s more like it. We lost every cent. All of it. Had to borrow bus fare home from Marian. Now what do you say about that, Mr. Truman Compulsive Gambler Kicklighter?”

Truman laid his cards on the table. Three aces, three kings, three jacks.

“Gin,” he said. “Another hand?”

####

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