“I’m not saying you’re an idiot, but I know you are very concerned about your friend. Sometimes we do foolish things when our emotions are involved.”
“I know you’re right.” Maggie sighed. “I need to put my head in journalist mode and not friend mode.”
“Exactly.” Yoko gave Maggie’s arm a squeeze. “Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”
The women parted in the lobby, each off in a different direction.
Maggie pulled out a paper map of Miami and traced her route to the Miami Herald. Yoko did the same in her car. They did not want to leave any electronic footprints in any GPS.
Much to Maggie’s surprise, traffic was light on her way there. When she arrived, the parking lot was crowded, forcing her to leave the car at the far end of the lot. After a few hundred feet she realized she had left her hat in the car. “Dang,” she admonished herself. She knew she had to go back and get it. The sun was blazing hot, and the humidity was like a steam bath. She could see the thunderheads forming in the west. Like clockwork, every day the skies would fill with cumulonimbus clouds over the Everglades and move east across the city. More often than not, they would cause downpours, creating havoc on the roads. Rain would come down in sheets, making it impossible to see. The entire episode would last for less than an hour, unless you were traveling in the direction of the storm. If the hat didn’t protect her from the sun, it might be some help if she got caught in the deluge. She hurried to the main entrance as the clouds began to burst behind her.
When she arrived at the front security desk, she flashed her press credentials. “Good afternoon. Maggie Spritzer to see Jimmy Griffin.” The security guard scrutinized her identification and dialed a number. “Maggie Spritzer to see you,” a short pause, then, “Elevator banks are to your right. Second floor.”
Maggie smiled. “Thanks!” She realized she had been sweating when she entered the building and pulled out a tissue to wipe her face. Miami was certainly hot.
When the elevator doors opened, Jimmy Griffin stood waiting for her. He wrapped his arms around her, lifted her off the floor, and gave her a spin. “Maggie Spritzer! How’s my favorite Ping-Pong pal?”
Maggie laughed. “After losing that match in Dallas?”
“Heck, it was better than standing around waiting for the results of the primary.”
“Yeah. Fun times.” Maggie remembered all the traveling she had done a few years before, following all the presidential primary elections. “Glad I’m not on that beat anymore. A lot of hostility.”
“Politics and hostility. Kinda redundant, doncha think?” Jimmy snickered. “You must get a boatload of that stuff up there in the Beltway.”
“Puh-lease. You can only imagine what isn’t covered in ink,” Maggie joked back.
Jimmy Griffin was in his late thirties. He had been in journalism since college. He had hopped around the country, working for several of the two dozen newspapers owned by the McClatchy family, mostly covering political races. But he wanted more of the nitty-gritty and took a job at the company’s Miami Herald news desk. He and Maggie used to cover many of the same stories, so they would often find themselves in the same “dumpy motels” following the many hopefuls on the road to the White House. They would usually grab a bite to eat or have a beer, but there had never been any romance. None of their contemporaries could figure out why. Maggie would respond with “It’s just not one of those things.”
“Come. Let’s go grab a coffee. There’s a bunch of places just a few minutes from here.” He grabbed one of the dozens of umbrellas in a stand just outside the newsroom door.
“Is that yours?” Maggie asked.
“Huh? This? Maybe.” Jimmy chuckled. “Everyone throws their chutes in here. You grab one and bring one back. Doesn’t matter.”
“The honor system.” Maggie smiled. “I’m impressed.”
They made their way to a Cuban coffee stand. Jimmy ordered two café cubanos, sugar included. Maggie spotted something that looked like cake. “Mmmmm ... grab me one of those!” She pointed to a pastelito.
Jimmy burst out laughing. “Well, I see that your appetite hasn’t changed one little bit!”
Maggie giggled as she wiped some of the flaky crust from her lips. “I’m waiting for all of it to catch up with me. I must have a wicked-fast metabolism.”
“I’m in awe.” Jimmy beamed at his friend. “So what brings you to Miami? It can’t be a story about The Haven. They are boring. B-o-r-i-n-g. Boring. A bunch of miscreants who otherwise would be in a shelter, work camp, jail, or rehab. And the guy who is their ‘leader,’ ”—Jimmy used air quotes—“is another snooze festival.”
Maggie stared down at her coffee, debating how much she should tell Jimmy.
“What?” Jimmy prodded. “I know that pensive look.”
“They profess some sort of spiritual enlightenment, but it seems more like a cult.” She decided to give him some information. “It appears that they are funded by several shell companies.”
Jimmy’s eyebrows furrowed. “You mean it’s not all peace, love, and do you want to buy an eggplant?”
“Not from what I’ve learned.” Maggie still hesitated.
“So why is that of interest to you?” Jimmy was a top-notch reporter, in the same league as Maggie.
“Don’t you find that a little suspicious?” Maggie leaned in. “A spiritual retreat that is hiding behind shell companies?”
“Good point. But why are you interested in them? Certainly there must be a lot of more pressing issues for you to be tracking down.”
“Let’s just say it’s personal.” Maggie hated to be secretive with her longtime friend.
“Oh no you don’t.” Jimmy sat up tall. “You’re not pulling that with me.”
Maggie looked around to make sure no one could hear her. “I got a disturbing phone call from my friend Gabby.”
“Gabby Richardson?” Jimmy asked.
“Yes, Gabby.”
“What kind of disturbing call? I know she wanted to take a break from the crime-scene stuff, but what does she have to do with The Haven?”
“Apparently, she saw the leader, Liam Westlake, at a few venues and was impressed. She said she was on a soul-searching journey and signed up for a program there.”
“Wow. I didn’t know that normal people went there.”
“Not every person on a spiritual quest is a loser.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that they have a reputation for taking in people who can’t seem to survive on the outside.”
“So, it’s really not such a bad thing,” Maggie noted.
“But suspicious?” Jimmy asked.
Maggie decided to bring Jimmy in on some of the details, just in case she needed his help going forward.
“Okay, but you have to promise me this goes nowhere else. We’re talking off the record. Capisce?”
“Capisce.”
Maggie proceeded to tell Jimmy about the two messages Gabby had left on her voice mail.