Presumption of Guilt by Marti Green

construction of the jail.”
    Michaels stood up and strode over to the dock. He looked out over the water for a long moment, then turned around and walked back to Tommy. Still standing, he said, “I worked hard my whole life for all of this. I’m enjoying my retirement. Now here you come and start poking into matters that are buried. Leave it alone. The jail had nothing to do with the murders. If I thought it did, I’d be the first person to help you hunt down the murderer. But you’re off base here. Now, I think it’s best if you leave.”
    Tommy remained planted in his chair. “Just one more question. Molly heard you arguing with her father shortly before the murders. What was that about?”
    “We argued all the time; I can’t say what any particular one was about. Usually over minor things. We’re both stubborn.” Michaels caught himself. “We were both stubborn.” A look of sadness passed over his face. “Now, really, I’m late for a tennis game. There’s nothing I can help you with.”
    Tommy stood up and Michaels walked him to the front door. As they neared it, the door opened and a striking young woman in jogging shorts and sports bra walked in. Her silky brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, accentuating large eyes the color of the deep-blue inlet behind the house. Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead. Tommy wondered if she was Michaels’s daughter.
    The woman glanced at Tommy, then said to Michaels, “Oh, good, you haven’t left yet.”
    “Honey, this is Tommy Noorland. He works with a lawyer trying to help Molly.”
    The woman held out her hand, as slim as the rest of her body. “Glad to meet you. I’m Lisa, Quince’s wife.”
    She walked off into the kitchen, and Tommy watched her rear sashay as she left. Husband standing right there or not, it was as though he had no choice in the matter. She was that spectacular. When he looked back to Michaels, Tommy was glad to see he’d been taking in the show, too. It wouldn’t likely get old, he figured.
    As he shook Michaels’s hand, he said, “I know you don’t want to talk about the jail, but I thought I should let you know that HIPP has hired a forensic accountant. He’s gotten all the documents from the state and will be going through them.” With that, Tommy released the man, turned back to the door, and left.
    “Lucky bastard,” Tommy muttered under his breath as he walked to his car. The gal couldn’t have been more than thirty-five, if she was even that. He wondered if Michaels had been married before and, if so, what had happened to Mrs. Michaels Number One.
    He got into the rental car, started the ignition, and put the air-conditioning on full blast. Once, he would have needed to head to the county clerk’s office for his fact-checking. Now he pulled an iPad from his briefcase and typed in a real estate website. Michaels claimed he’d gotten a steal on the house. This website would tell him what he’d purchased it for. Within a few clicks, he had the number—$4.45 million. Didn’t seem like much of a steal to him, but he guessed waterfront property in Miami Beach didn’t come cheap. The original house was 2,830 square feet and didn’t have a pool. A few more clicks told him the current house was 5,850 square feet and had no mortgage. That had to have set him back a few more million at least. Add in the pool, the landscaping, the boat, and the furnishings, and it probably totaled more than $8 million. And he guessed he was being conservative. Not bad for a builder. Maybe Donald Trump made that kind of money, but he didn’t know too many other builders who did. So, where did the money come from?
    He took out his cell phone and dialed Dani. “How you feeling, doll?” Although she’d gotten used to it and even laughed about it at times, Tommy knew Dani hated terms like “sweetheart,” “doll,” and “gorgeous.” He couldn’t help it. It just came out. He was a poster child for political incorrectness.
    She took