Wild Secret

patch and were moving forward.
As usual, we hit Tide Pool afterward and returned to the Avventura for a late-night gathering. There was an awkward moment of tension when Sadie joined us, but the girls stayed amicable. Sadie wasn’t looking to have her back in the band anytime soon, but they were at least on speaking terms.
“She didn’t sleep with my boyfriend,” Sadie said to me. “I got no real beef with her. I’m just mad about how it all went down.”
Sadie did her best to convince me to sit in with Lip Bomb. She made a good persuasive argument, and I was happy to let her give it her best shot.
A call first thing in the morning woke me up. I wiped the sleep from my eyes and grabbed the phone from the nightstand. The sheriff’s annoyed voice filtered through the speaker. "You’re not gonna believe this shit."
“What happened?"
“The charges against Stella Turner were dropped."
"What!?”
“The audio recording was deemed inadmissible. Florida is a consent state. All parties must consent to the recording. Stella obviously didn't, and since the conversation took place in her car, she had a reasonable expectation of privacy."
I groaned. “Who was the judge?”
“Echols.”
“Figures.”
"Turn on the news. It's a media frenzy. Word is she's going to resign but it looks like she’s gonna walk away from this without any time.”
"Not if I can help it."
"That's what I was hoping you'd say. Find something and make it stick."
“I will.”
I turned on the TV. There were images of Stella leaving the courthouse, mobbed by reporters. Cameras flashed, and microphones were shoved in her face. She had no comment as she pushed through the crowd.
I texted the audio file to Paris Delaney. What the hell… It may not have been admissible in court, but the court of public opinion had less rigid standards.
Paris texted back. [Now that's what I call juicy. I owe you one.]
[It didn't come from me.]
[You know I protect my sources.]
That much was true. She’d go to her grave with her sources.
Within minutes, the audio was a breaking news alert. Soon, it was all over the Internet. Stella Turner was finished professionally. At least, that's what I hoped. But she’d probably get a book deal and make millions.
Isabella called after breakfast. “I see your friend is making headlines.”
“She is not my friend.”
“I did some digging.”
“Tell me something good.”

44
“Stella is on the board of the Forward Fund,” Isabella said. “They paid out over $3 million to various nonprofits that didn't even apply for grants. All of those companies paid a consulting fee to Sunbeam Analytics. That company is owned by an offshore company named Sunray Strategies, of which I am still trying to ascertain the ownership. But I will bet you Stella Turner has a hand in that."
"She's funneling money into the fund, giving it out to her friends who are then paying her consulting fees,” I said.
"It appears that way."
"Is that illegal?"
"It’s unethical, that’s for sure. The legality depends on what you'll be able to prove and how the deals were structured. Plus, you’re not gonna be able to use anything I provide you with. You’ll have to pull all this information on your own. My suspicion is this has been going on for years, and nobody wants to do anything about it.”
“You got that right. Too many people are getting rich, and no prosecuting attorney wants to open that can of worms.”
“There are two things you can do. Sunbeam Analytics has made numerous political contributions to local office holders. I’d scrutinize those transactions. You might be able to catch her on an election law violation. Also, I checked her personal financial records. She just purchased a new car from Hartsell imports at a substantial discount. I think this is where she screwed up. If that discount was given in exchange for some type of deferred prosecution agreement, that is a direct violation."
I grinned. "You're brilliant."
"Yes, I am."
I thanked Isabella and ended the call.
I climbed out of bed, showered, dressed, then shuffled down the steps and banged on the hatch to JD’s stateroom. “Get your ass up. We’ve got work to do. Stella got off.”
I knew that would get his attention.
I went into the galley and started cooking breakfast. Afterward, we headed across the island to Hartsell Imports. The lot was loaded with slightly used luxury and exotic cars. There were Lamborghinis, Ferraris, Porches, Jaguars, Bentleys, Aston Martins. All polished and shiny, their tires slick with protectant.
We stepped into the showroom, and that new car smell filled the air, even though the cars weren't exactly new. They were all low mileage. Cars that wealthy collectors bought that sat in driveways and saw little use.
A slick salesman approached. "What can I do for you, gentlemen?"
"Looking for Nick Hartsell?"
"May I tell him your name?"
I flashed my badge. "Deputy Tyson Wild."
He forced a smile. "Give me one minute. I'll let him know you're here.”
He spun around and marched to the back office.
Nick Hartsell emerged a few moments later. He had short wavy blond hair, a tanned face, and a square jaw. He wore a white linen suit and a royal blue dress shirt. He looked like a TV star, and I recognized him from his commercials. The 47-year-old had blue eyes and a bright smile. A thin gold chain hung around his neck. He was a wheeler-dealer and could get just about any car you wanted for a price. He extended a welcoming hand. "Deputies, welcome to Hartsell Imports.”
We shook.
“Is there something I can interest you in? We offer law enforcement discounts.”
"Actually, that’s what I’m here to talk to you about.”
“You came to the right place.” He sized me up quickly. “You look like a Lambo guy. I’ve got a Huracán EVO Spyder in neon green with your name on it. 3,200 miles. Almost new.”
“Tempting, but I’d like to talk to you about another deal you made. You recently sold Stella Turner a convertible Jaguar."
He hesitated. "I sell a lot of people a lot of cars."
"According to my records, you